Creep
by Dragon Of Ash
Summary: This is a story starting pretty much right after Prom from season 2 and going AUish after that.   Main characters: Kurt, Blaine, Karofsky, et al.  Rated M for language  swearing, slurs, etc .
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: I don't own Glee. Glee is the creation of Ryan Murphy and is owned by Fox. It's not mine. I make no claims to it. I'm just using the characters for fun. **Chapter 1**

The theme for Sports Center blared out of Dave's alarm clock promptly at 6am like always, and was met with his equally regular fist silencing the clock for a few more precious minutes. Like always, Hank Williams' rhetorical question: "Are you ready for some football?" shattered the silence of the early Monday morning fifteen minutes later. He groaned and covered his head with his pillow. Maybe if he pressed down hard enough he would suffocate and then he wouldn't have deal with either his alarm clock or school. He groaned even louder at the thought of school. The Day Back from Prom was supposed to be a day of triumph: guys would brag about how they 'scored in the hotel room' and girls would swoon over how gentle and charming their boyfriends were, and everyone would be working off a hangover three days later. It was supposed to be so awesome that not even teachers or actual schoolwork could bring it down.

But, Dave didn't get to go to the hotel. He didn't get to 'score'. And, he certainly didn't have anything to brag about. He was elected King of the Junior Prom. That was supposed to be his crowning moment of awesome; the proof that all the lies, all the sacrifice, all the bullying and the friends he'd alienated were worth it. Pretending to be someone else, hiding and giving away so much of his own life and personality that he didn't even know _who _he was or what he truly wanted out of life, was supposed to be worth it when he got that crown. He was supposed to come out on top. And, for one brief moment he was. For the few scant seconds that stood between his election and the announcement of his _Prom Queen_, he had believed that had succeeded. And then he ran like some pansy coward. If he had just done some fucking chicken dance with Kurt, or gone up and grabbed his fucking _date_, things would have been salvageable. If he'd just goofed off, he could have been a clown, or a brilliant romantic with Santana.

"_I can't._" The words thundered in his head louder than the Hank Williams call out to guys everywhere. _Why _did he have to fucking open his damned mouth? He could have just stayed quiet and walked off pissed. Hell, a 'rage quit' would have been better than running like a pansy. Instead, he all but screamed "I'm gay" when he ran with his tail between his legs. Or, at best, "I'm a fucking loser!" Either way, he was dead meat today.

He rolled out of bed, a yawn muffling another groan. He had no choice but to get up, suit up, and take the hits. He quickly showered and tried to ignore the massive blob that filled his bathroom mirror. He was chubby and sweat too much and would probably be bald by the time he was thirty. Small wonder he'd never had a... He gripped the sink, willing himself to say the words, or even think them.

Boy.

Friend.

Boyfriend.

There, he'd said them. He released an explosive breath he had not realized he'd held as he said the word again in his mind. Boyfriend. His arms barely shook that time, and he hadn't started to sweat or sick up like he used to. Soon, he could work up to saying the words aloud and not just thinking them. In private. In his room. With his parents gone and the lights all turned off.

Dave glared at his reflection and the disgusting chub around his cheeks, the slight puffiness to his neck, the rolls around his midsection, the zit forming just underneath his hairline. He was revolting. Santana would _never _want to be seen with him again. With her gone, his cover would be completely blown, if he hadn't screwed it up already. Santana liked pretty things and things that made her look pretty. Without his status as alpha male, he had nothing going for him. He seriously needed to spend more time in the gym if he even had a chance to convince her to keep up the act.

Besides, working out kept him out of the halls where it was a lot harder to dodge a slushee or a fist. Coach Beiste watched the locker room like a hawk. So, the normal shit that went down in the men's locker room never even entered the jocks' brains. They all knew what she would do to them if anything _did _happen that shouldn't. They had learned that the hard way when Strando put IcyHot in Hudson's jock: Beiste had made them do suicides, bear crawls, and mountain climbers in full pads until they barfed every practice for a whole week. No one had wanted to piss her off after that. Even Puck had toned his shit down. Beiste was hard, but she got results. Also, the locker room had stopped smelling like a nasty over-used jockstrap left sitting in a sweaty sneaker that someone had pissed in. That was always a good thing.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and darted back into the bedroom to quickly get dressed. His parents wouldn't be up for another hour, but it never paid to take his time heading back to his room. Small towels and a massive growth spurt in fifth grade had taught him a few sharp lessons about the importance for both speed and discretion when it came to changing These were lessons he quickly became thankful for when he started changing in the locker rooms during sixth grade. Dressed in his typical jeans and polo shirt, Dave quietly descended into the kitchen to devour his breakfast.

He picked at the oatmeal, boiled eggs, and fruit that his mom had left in the fridge for him the night before. He was getting low on eggs, but he knew she'd make another batch today before she went to work. Everything tasted bland today, worse than bland, and given his breakfast, that was saying something. It was like even his breakfast wanted him to avoid school today. He thought about dumping it all down the trash, but he needed the fuel for his workout today. He was really going to push himself and try and bench 290 today. He knew he could do it, he just needed to focus and eat right. Besides, facing McKinley on an empty stomach just made you uncomfortable _and_ depressed. Santana might keep his pudgy ass around a bit longer if he looked like he was trying to lose the weight. He gulped his milk down with a grimace, slung his gym bag and backpack over his shoulders, and quietly trudged out the door to his truck. For once, he was thankful he didn't have practice until next year. Carrying three heavy bags filled with books, sports equipment, and clothes every day was not something he enjoyed.

Still, it kept him busy and he actually _enjoyed _sports and working out and being physical, so it wasn't like he was forcing himself into doing something he didn't want to do. Besides, it had made his Dad proud.

_That _brought about a whole other mess of problems that he forced back down into whatever part of his brain stored 'Dave's repressions'. He'd probably get some kind of complex from everything he'd repressed, 'forgotten', rationalized, or just plain ignored. His parents expected so much of him-Hell, the _world_ expected so much of him- and most of it made no sense at all: A Man was supposed to be big and strong and tough. They didn't talk about their feelings; they didn't sing; they didn't _like_ other men or wear fancy clothes. They weren't even supposed to be all that good in school, since _everyone _who was smart anywhere was always picked on and laughed at. Even in the movies where the nerd is supposed to be the hero, the big dumb jock is the one that saves the day and the nerd is there for comic relief. Hell, even nerdy movies like the Matrix had a fucking computer hacker do kung-fu and be the fucking king of kickass. Neo didn't go around clacking into a computer to stop Agent Smith, he fucking beat the shit out of people until they gave in. The world said men were supposed to play sports and intimidate weaker guys and solve problems with their fists, not their brains. If they got hurt, they walked it off, they didn't go crying to their teachers. If someone pushed them into the lockers, they freaking pushed back. Real men pushed back. Just like girls were supposed to listen to men. Sure, they could be smart, Hell _someone_ had to know stuff and guys were too busy laying it on the line on the field to _care_ about crap like what an equilateral triangle was (he tried to ignore the definition, formula and uses _for_ an equilateral triangle that instantly popped into his head. It wasn't manly knowing that stuff). But, they had to give their man _respect_. They weren't supposed to stand out, or make their man look weak or stupid, either. And, they had to dress _hot_. Because, women were there for men.

But, on top of all that, his parents, and high school, had drilled into him an even bigger rule: Don't Make Waves. You can intimidate the weaker kids, sure, but don't get caught. You're a jock and a guy, so you have to be dumb, just don't be too dumb to get kicked off the team, or let anyone important notice. Girls are there for men to use, but don't let anyone in on the secret (except it's freaking _obvious_ from everything out there that everyone already knows the secret). So, talk about them, make 'conquests, sow those wild oats, but do that in private and respect them and love them in public. Men are violent and aggressive, women are there to calm them down and soften their edges, but men aren't supposed to be soft. But, you can't be too aggressive or violent, you need to channel all that fury into a pastime or a hobby. The hobby has to be rugged and manly and aggressive, though. Something like camping or sports was OK, gardening or painting wasn't.

Then, there was the biggest rule of all: Being Weird Was Wrong: People should be different, and express themselves and be unique, but you can't stand out too much or do anything that no one else does. Those people were laughed at just as much as the idiots who blindly followed the herd. You were supposed to be yourself, just like everyone else was. How can anyone possibly live up to that standard? Be unique, in exactly the same ways everyone else is unique. Be a big badass jock, and, if you're not, worship them and say that you wish you were one so no one will realize you're defective. Wear the same clothes as everyone else, but use them to help identify yourself as an individual.

These simple rules had been drilled into his head for so long that Dave feared they had come to define him. Those rules certainly defined high school.

The steering wheel creaked in protest from Dave's stranglehold on its sturdy plastic as a flash of uncontrolled rage burned deep in his brain. While he was so busy following all those rules to try and fit in and hide every part of of him that didn't quite match up, he had somehow forgotten who he was in the process. Did he _really_ like sports? Or, did he just like them because he'd been doing them so long and he was good at them. Did he enjoy playing Modern Warfare? Or, was he playing it just because he knew Az would laugh at him for not giving a rip about his "Prestige" or his "kill count", or any of that other junk?

Ms. Peale from fourth period English would say some psychology crap about the Other (whatever that Other was... what the Hell is that supposed to mean anyways?) and high school being the time when the Other becomes identified as something outside of the self, and how most great literature is about people fighting against the Other or being threatened by it. The Other could be an external force acting on and threatening the Self, or an apparent division within the Self and the conflict is the resolution of those two great forces until either the Self is triumphant or a gestalt is achieved (whatever the Hell _that_ meant). He didn't really know what the she had been talking about.. He was too busy trying to sneak a peek at Berry's boobs that day. She was a freak, sure, but she was a _hot_ freak when she dressed up in that Brittany Spears outfit. _Damn_, he'd like to hit that baby one more time.

He smirked at the thought of plowing Rachel Berry on the lockers. No dinner, no foreplay, no pretending that he was something other than a red-blooded all-American jock with a massive boner and she wasn't just _begging_ for a real man (not that quarterback fag Finn Hudson-what kind of fruit lets his _mom_ date a guy who's got a queer for a son? Didn't he know that he could catch fag?) to treat her good. A small voice in the back of his head that sounded disturbingly like Santana's reminded him that he wasn't really all that interested in Berry's boobs, but Sam and his rock-hard abs that were directly behind and just to the side of Berry's rack and if that freak hadn't insisted on moving _away_ from her boyfriend (what kind of spazz doesn't want to sit next to their boyfriend in school?) he wouldn't have had the opportunity to pretend to drool over her rack while he was really drooling over Sam's body and imagining he was the one he was ploughing. He hated that voice. It was always there, nagging him, reminding him that _he _wasn't normal. It wasn't normal for a guy to be good at school. And it certainly wasn't normal for a _jock. _But, he was. School was too easy. Not in a Steven Hawking or Albert Einstein kind of way, but in a "as long as I show up, do my work, and study, I'm going to get an A" kind of way. At least, that's how it was with math and science. Anything with patterns was a snap. History and English and all that other useless stuff, ya, they were more difficult. There weren't any patterns to follow, so he had to work for those B's and A's. Which, if you asked him ware still to high to fit in, even if he did fake having to get help, or, rather, "help". Even then, most of his teachers just sort of winked and grinned when they gave him back his papers, like they fucking _knew_ he hadn't cheated. His math teacher had all but called him out on it in class in Eighth grade. Now, he was in fucking Calculus as a Junior, and prepped to take fucking AP Calc next year. What kind of geek is in a college-level math class with braniac Seniors, as a Junior _and _is a key player on two sports teams?

Freaky math-genius jocks, that's who.

An even bigger question reared its ugly head, thanks to the Santana in his mind constantly nagging him: what kind of freak likes guys? Ya, he was sorry he fucked with Kurt's head. He really didn't mean to threaten to kill the guy, truth be told, he actually _respected _him and his bravery. But he couldn't... he wasn't like _that_. He was just curious, that's all. Just curious. And, it could go away. He could wait it out, and it could go away. That's what they said in church, after all. If you pray and wait and trust in God, you can get better. So, he needed to avoid Hummel and temptation and the whole thing would blow over. He didn't need to hate fags, but he could just avoid them. That was why he'd tried to scare Hummel away, because he needed to protect himself and his secret. Because he was … weird. With Hummel gone, he could be normal again.

That same nagging voice reminded him that he had _wanted_ to dance with Kurt at Prom. And, until Kurt had mentioned that doing so would have been like shouting out he was gay, Karofsky had been primed to do so. Then, of course, he ran like a fucking coward. That kind of behavior certainly didn't help to keep his status as duke stud at McKinley. Not only was he 'a gay' but he was a _coward_.

Dave sighed as he pulled himself out of his truck and trudged towards school with both bags slung over his shoulders. There really wasn't a resolution in sight. He could pretend like nothing was wrong, and he would end up hating himself forever. Or, face his problems and deal with the fallout. Neither option worked. If he waited, hoping that he could change in college, he wouldn't change a damned thing, and he knew it. He'd end up with three kids and married to some poor woman he'd met through church who was convinced that she was doing the right thing by marrying someone who wouldn't be able to touch her without popping a pill or getting so shitfaced he couldn't tell which hole he was stuffing. He'd be trapped in a life he hated and would take it out on her until they both couldn't stand to look at each other and it all would blow up in their faces when he finally broke down and got caught 'knocking boots with some intern'. Hell, he'd probably fuck things up so badly that his kids would end up just like him. That was a horrifying thought. He couldn't do that to his kids, future or otherwise. He'd sooner die than put anyone else through what he was going through now.

On the other hand, if he faced his problems, possibly, hopefully, one day he _could _have it all. He could have the three kids and the loving husband and the successful career and he could be finally, totally happy. He just needed to survive a year of high school in Middle America. He'd lose his friends, definitely. Az wouldn't think twice about slamming him into a locker (granted, Az was probably the only other jock big enough to slam him into a locker). Hell, he'd probably throw the first slushee. Every other jock in school would be on him like flies on shit. Even the Gleeks and the other nerds would take their pot shots at him. He quailed as the image of his face and the words 'Big Gay Dave and His Big Gay Secret' splattered across Jacob Ben Israel's blog filled his mind. Even if Beiste didn't throw him off the teams for being … like that... and, he doubted she would, his teammates would make his life so miserable he'd have to quit. He'd lose everything. Worse, what guy would want to end up with a former gay-bashing bully? He didn't have the stats on hand, but he was sure the answer was pretty close to zilch. No, he'd still be hiding, just in a different way.

Either way, he was screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: I don't own Glee. Glee is the creation of Ryan Murphy and is owned by Fox. It's not mine. I make no claims to it. I'm just using the characters for fun. **Chapter 2**

Kurt Hummel drummed his fingers on his steering wheel, trying to work up the courage to step out of the relative safety of his car and enter the horror of American high school. It was the Day After Prom, he should be entering with his head held high, ready to flaunt his awesome weekend in front of the huddled blue collar jejune masses that filled McKinley High School. He should be proud or, at least, _happy_, that to return to school filled with the triumph of Prom weekend. Instead, he stared at the cold edifice of McKinley High School with trepidation. Would he be laughed at and mocked, as McKinley's reigning Junior Prom Queen. Or, would he be hailed as a a hero who had laughed as his bullies, pointed the barbs back at them, and said 'Ha Ha! Good joke. But, guess what, you can't bring me down!' Elphaba probably never had to deal with knuckle-dragging Neanderthals, and teachers who pretended to be blind so they didn't have to deal with things, or worse, said that being bullied was just part of growing up and that it built 'character.' If that were true, then he had enough character to fill a Russian novel.

Granted, if he hadn't been bullied he wouldn't have gone to Dalton Academy. Which meant he wouldn't have met Blaine. Which meant he wouldn't be _dating _Blaine right now. So, he supposed he should be thanking the butterfly effect bullying had had on his love life. Not that that was at all ironic, of course. Homophobes drove him into the arms of his Prince Charming. That was like saying the Evil Queen brought Snow White and the Prince together. Of course, that meant that he was the damsel in distress which did not do at all. He may have loved dressing up and looking pretty, true, but Kurt wasn't at all comfortable with being portrayed as a woman, no matter how appropriate the analogy might be. It really infuriated him when people called him Lady Lips, or Girlfriend, or just assumed that since he was gay and talked to girls and had friends that were girls that he wouldn't want to stay in the boys' rooms on school trips, or want to play the (straight) male lead in a play. He had boy parts, dammit! He was a real live boy! And, he demanded to be treated like one!

He rolled his eyes as he made yet another Disney reference. Any more, and he really would have birds and singing mice dressing him in the morning.

Blaine never had problems being treated like a guy by the other guys. Half of that might be because he spoke "jock" and could rattle off sport statistics and talk about the latest football game. But, he still sang top 40 songs, and his favorite singers were Katy Perry and Lady Gaga. He was still _gay_. But, he was some kind of magical, acceptable, gay that made all the guys around him just naturally include him. Kurt, on the other hand, was on the outside looking in like Quasimodo in the bell tower. Granted, he was an incredibly fabulous Quasimodo, and his bell tower was stylish and chic. In the eyes of his peers, however, he was still half-formed. A freak. He was a man, yet, in the eyes of McKinley High, he was also a girl. He had tried to own that duality by singing his own duet from _Victor/Victoria_. And no matter how much he had rocked that song (Julie Andrews herself would be proud, he was sure), all it did was highlight that he didn't fit in to the neat classification system of Middle America. He dated boys, avoided the jejune and testosterone-driven posturings of male "bonding", and had a keen eye for fashion. These things, together, put him in the girl category at McKinley. Yet, he looked like a man and, in the words of Frankie Valli: talked like a man and walked like a man. He had man-parts and enjoyed working on cars with his dad. All of these things put him soundly in the guy category. As his dad would say: he was six of one and half a dozen of the other. He was Quasimodo at his most elegant.

And, like Quasimodo, he was had also been crowned the King of Fools. What else would a guy being named Junior Prom Queen be? The thing that had truly devastated him was that he had been warned by _Karofsky_ no less, the biggest (former) bully in the school. He had been warned that things were too quiet, and people might try and start something. And, he had dismissed the jock's misgivings as paranoia. He should have known that an ex-bully would understand how bullies think. Then again, he had seemed just as surprised when Kurt's name was called, like even he hadn't though the school would stoop so low.

As if on queue, his former tormentor lumbered up the steps into school with all the bluster and swagger of a star jock. He looked like someone who had just been elected Prom King. No one would suspect that Dave Karofsky had run from the gym in a flurry of panicked tears at the thought of dancing with his "Queen".

Then again, until very recently, Kurt would never have suspected that Dave Karofsky was gay. He had always been good at hiding his true feelings.

No, Karofsky needed to be felt out. If the jock was suffering, he might revert back to his former bullying to try and reclaim his lost status. Or, at least, do as much damage control as possible and prevent further humiliation. If that happened, the Neanderthal might never know a moment's peace. _He _might never know a moment's peace.

Cautiously, he stepped out of his car, momentarily glad that Finn had decided to ride in with Rachel today. He did not need an audience for what he was about to do. His friends hadn't believed him when he said that he wasn't afraid of Karofsky anymore. And, for the most part, it had been true. Kurt wasn't afraid of Dave Karofsky, Bully Whip and ex-bully. He pitied the jock; empathized with him at times; even marveled at him at others. After all, he _was _a jock acing Calculus. What kind of athlete is good at math? But, he was never afraid of him. Now. Dave Karofsky, the repressed and closeted bully, Kurt was afraid of. But, somehow between Principal Figgins' office and that tearful confession in front of French Three, the two Daves had polarized in his mind and he had started to see Dave the Man and not Karofsky the Bully. No one else had, though. Dave had stopped bullying people, and still people gave him a wide berth in the hallways. The Gleeks still shot him murderous looks when he walked down the halls or was sitting in class. He could only imagine what the locker rooms had been like. It was hard enough to keep the illusion of privacy in a place that was so open and naked. But, to throw barely checked animosity and suspicion into the mix? It had to have been a powder keg that only Coach Beiste could have kept from igniting.

And now, Karofsky seemed to walk as though nothing untoward had happened, like today was just a regular day at McKinley High when it followed a day that clearly wasn't. No. A 'normal' Karofsky was anything but. Kurt had seen firsthand what happened when the jock exploded and let slip even a portion of the pressures roiling beneath his otherwise calm (if surly) exterior. A calm and normal Karofsky was an unpredictable powder keg, like nitroglycerin on a trampoline: ready to explode at any moment and usually in a dramatic way.

He gulped and hurried after the former bully.

He needn't have tried so hard. Karofsky was standing at his opened locker going through the morning ritual of exchanging books and storing bags. The jock seemed totally oblivious to the rest of the world. A stark contrast to the paranoia Kurt knew had hounded him for years. Karofsky was very good at wearing masks and hiding who he was. Kurt leaned against a locker as examined his former bully. The man was so inscrutable as to nearly defy definition, something that was almost ludicrous to suggest given Karofsky's obsession with fitting in.

Besides, Karofsky was his... acquaintance. You couldn't run from a bond that strong.

At the very least, the jock was Kurt's bodyguard. If the Neanderthal were off his game, the other meathheads might get ideas. At first, he'd been convinced that the rest of the school just didn't care about him anymore and had given up taunting him. He'd never seen any of the other jocks trying to bully or harass him. Maybe that had been all due to Karofsky's presence. The jock seemed to have thought so. He had seemed convinced that there was a thug with a slushie waiting around every corner, or a mob ready to toss him into a dumpster. Maybe there had been. They'd certainly thrown him the king of all slushies. It certainly was royal enough. He thought he had turned the tables on them, and owned the insult. Maybe he had. Either way, he grudgingly had to admit that perhaps Karofsky had been the reason why he had been left alone until Prom. Come to think of it, bullying had decreased considerably since his return to McKinley High School. His dad had asserted that it was because the greatest offender-Dave-had quit bullying. But, that wasn't necessarily true. The school was full of bullies. Prom had proven that. They had just become wiser about _when_ to bully. A bully in the hall could be identified. It wasn't like the school hallways were empty. _Everyone_, including the teachers, saw what was going on, most of them had born witness to the slushies and the locker slams themselves. Whoever the bystander, witnesses abounded. Karofsky had been taken down because there were witnesses. But a faceless ballot? That gave the cowards something to hide behind. No one could blame the jocks, even though everyone knew they were to blame. There were no names on the ballots at Prom, so the jocks could all claim innocence, it was fool proof. However, with Prom out of the way, and the only major events looming in the near horizon were Graduation Day for the Seniors, finals, and the last day of school, there was nothing to hold the jocks back anymore. There was nothing anyone could hold over the bullies' heads to keep them in line.

Suddenly, Kurt felt very afraid.

With no real threat of retribution left, the bullies would eat everyone like candy. What was the worst that Figgins could do? Suspend someone until the end of the school year? Wonderful, they got to take their summer break early. That might actually _encourage_ bullying. He hated the idea that Santana and her insane Eve Harrington scheming had even, remotely, had a positive impact on the safety of the school. He'd hoped that the whole charade would have dissolved into vapor, or, at least, been a wash. But the bullies had bullied the bullies and everything had been quiet for almost half a year.

Thoughts of Karofsky drew him back to his present focus: the athlete and former bully staring at his locker as though in confusion. Kurt cricked his head to the side to gain a better view and saw the jock holding his Letterman jacket in a slightly trembling arm. It was odd that he hadn't walked in with it, but then again, it was May and it would get warm quickly. Even more strange, however, was the Bully Whips jacket hung inside as well and Karofsky's hand kept twitching as though he meant to grab that one instead.

Actually, all of Karofsky's locker was a bit of a conundrum. Sports posters and rocker labels decorated the door, just like every jock's locker in McKinley High. But, the usual spread of porn, garbage, and general filth that also accompanied every jock's locker (and in the case of filth and garbage, every teenage boy in high school) was absent. Worse, everything was generic, as though Kurt was looking into the locker from a TV commercial or a movie, and not one that belonged to a real living breathing person. The Buckeyes, the Red Wings, Megan Fox on the cover of a Rollingstones magazine promoting the first Transformers movie (OK, so maybe that counted as porn), and a few stickers for Linkin Park and Green Day, were all placed haphazardly about the inside of his door with such precision that they all seemed to frame the Transformers cover perfectly. The door was the perfect image of a jock's locker, but none of it gave a sense of Karofsky's actual personality. This could have been Azimio's locker, or Strando's, or, even Finn's. Except, Finn's locker had Rachel plastered all over it, Strando's locker reeked of the Country Music Awards, and Azimio's locker had a massive spread of 50 Cent along with a bunch of stickers about that game Shout of Obligation or whatever it was called. Kurt felt a profound sadness for the closeted jock, a boy's locker should be an expression of himself. Everything should be an expression of identity and individuality. "Pick the red one."

Karofsky jumped from his locker as though he'd been caught doing something dirty. Given the guilty look the jock tried to hide with his usual cold mask, Kurt supposed he was in a way. "They're both red, Hummel." His smirk was full of bravado and strength. It was also full of lies.

"Well, they both should go with your outfit." He grinned to take the sting out of his comment. "I mean, a black and white striped polo, faded blue jeans, and sneakers are kind of classic. They'd go with anything."

Karofsky's eyes narrowed and he nodded, slightly, like Kurt had just confirmed something to him. "Ya, I guess it's a good thing I'm not obsessed with trends." He sneered, but it held none of the bite that it once did. Kurt felt sorry for the boy as his shoulders slumped and he turned back to the locker. "I don't know which one to pick."

"Pick the one that fits." He gulped and took a step forward but paused as Karofsky's shoulders tensed. "Or go without. That's always an option, too. Not every accessory is meant for every occasion. I know it's practically fashion blasphemy, but you don't have to accessorize every ensemble. Sometimes, the clothes speak for themselves." He grinned and adjusted his bag. "It's a secret that only those 'obsessed with fashion' have figured out, though."

Karofsky nodded once and whirled around, his face an unreadable mask. "I have to stop at the locker room, and drop off my gym bag for after school." He kicked the blue shapeless sack as though making a point. The thing practically bulged at the seams. What all could he possibly have in there? Kurt's own bag was _never_ that large and he managed to pack all his school supplies, plus a change of after-practice clothes, a slushie emergency ensemble, and a dumpster-ensemble every day. "Coach said I can use the weight room whenever I want to help stay in shape. She said..." His mouth clamped shut and he slung the bag over his shoulders almost violently. The sound of his door slamming shut echoed down the halls. "What the fuck are you doing here so early?" It was a growl, Karofsky meant it to be a growl. But, after spending so much time with the jock, Kurt had started to become immune to intimidation especially because Karofsky tended to try intimidation when he was trying to not deal with things.

"I thought I'd scope out the atmosphere." The jock raised an eyebrow in impatience, but his eyes darted frantically up and down the hall. "Y'know, because of Saturday?" Saturday seemed like a much safer word to use than 'Junior Prom'. It was distant and more impersonal. Kurt could be referring to any Saturday in any weekend.

"Oh." Dave's entire body seemed to deflate while his eyes bored holes into the floor. "Listen about that..." Really, the boy needed to keep better control of his emotions. Furious one moment, depressed the next. If Karofsky wasn't careful, Kurt was positive the Neanderthal would develop an aneurysm.

"So I thought that I'd pack some extra clothes in my bag, get them all set up and then go and work on some songs in the choir room until the bell." Kurt needed to keep talking, if he talked, he wouldn't think about the insane death wish he had. What was he thinking? Asking the closeted _gay_ homophobic bully how he felt about being paired with the only out gay kid at school for Prom Night. "Or, at least, until the others showed up." Karofsky nodded and he looked even more dejected as he collapsed against his locker. "You know, I don't blame you, right? About Saturday?" Kurt gasped and stepped back at the intensity of the footballer's gaze. There was so much unsaid in those eyes. And, so much that was said.

"I ran out on you." The words were a whisper, a torn and tortured confession of something Kurt couldn't quite put his finger on.

"You were caught off guard." Kurt's own gaze solid and intense. He could intimidate just as well as anyone else when he wanted to.

"I'm such a fucking coward. I shoulda just … I shouldn't have left you like that."

"I pressured you. I shouldn't have done that. After telling you it would get better, that, in time, you'd be safe and no one would persecute you. Hell, after telling you that I didn't need you to walk me to class." Karofsky flinched, and Kurt instantly regretted those words. Although, he wasn't sure how or why the jock reacted the way he did.

"No... I coulda just grabbed Santana, or, I dunno, done the fucking Chicken Dance, or something. I could have..."

"You _could_ have just danced. But, you and I both know it wouldn't have been just 'a dance'. Not after what I said. Not after the way I said it. You'd have been making a statement, to me and to them, no matter what you did. If you danced with me, you'd have outted yourself. If you danced with her, you would be in Narnia by now." He smiled softly as the jock squirmed under his gaze. "No one has the right to dictate when or how you should come out. I'm a hypocrite."

Karofsky cringed, his mouth screwed up like he'd eaten something rotten. "Dude, it's cool, whatever." His face was quickly cooling into a blank mask, his eyes hardening into his usual ice chips. "I gotta go."

"I... OK" Kurt sighed as Karofsky all but ran down the halls. Whatever wall Karofsky had started to break down was quickly being rebuilt. If things didn't change, Karofsky would be back to his old self in no time. Something had to change


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: I don't own Glee. Glee is the creation of Ryan Murphy and is owned by Fox. It's not mine. I make no claims to it. I'm just using the characters for fun.

**Chapter 3**

Unfortunately, the idea of a 'change' was easier to decide than the actual change. This was a fact Kurt found out very easily as he leaned against his locker talking to Mercedes and Tina. Both were still gushing about Prom. Tina, especially, had a healthy glow about her. Kurt had no doubt that her current maidenhood was only technical at best. Despite the Situ-Asians' best efforts to remain chaste throughout high school, Tina Cohen-Chang was a woman of blazing passions. Kurt distinctly remembered an awkward and far too-intense rendition of "Funny Valentine" that quickly went from tearful devotional of love to soft-core porn. Not that the Other Asian was at all innocent. Mike _was_ a guy, after all, and a pretty horny one, too. He was all too willing to explore the depths of his love for Tina. He even instigated quite a bit of their expressions of love. Sometimes, Kurt felt that if Mr. Schue wasn't in the room, the Changs' virginity would no longer be in question. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Despite the admonitions, tirades, and propaganda from the teachers and other media, Kurt had a rather healthy view of sex: Everything was OK until someone got hurt, or pregnant, or sick. He didn't have a problem with _other_ people having sex. He just didn't think _he_was ready, yet. His dad had been right when he said that sex was special, and it would change him if he had it too soon. Puck seemed to be obsessed with the act, as did Santana. And the fallout from sex had nearly ruined the Glee club, along with Quinn's life. Granted, that was more of Quinn's stupidity and naivete than it was the act itself. But, the consequences had drastically changed three people's lives. Puck had given up sex altogether, and Finn seemed desperate for more. Quinn tried to behave as though everything was back to status quo, but he had a sneaking suspicion that not all was right with Miss Fabray.

"And then we slept together!" Tina practically squealed in joy. Mercedes definitely did as she hugged her friend tightly to her chest.

"Wait, what? You _slept_together? Like..." He couldn't believe his ears, maybe technical had become non-existent over the weekend. He had thought that Tina had had more sense than that!

"No.. not like that. We just, sat, and talked about our lives and our futures. He wants to go to school to major in performing arts, like me! But, he'll probably need to go to med school too, to make his dad happy and as a fall back." Kurt was flabbergasted by that announcement, so offhand and casual. What kind of person considered being a _doctor_ a 'fallback'? _Who_could even think that? Although, it made a hell of a lot of sense. Performing arts wasn't the meal ticket that everyone hoped it would be. Actors could go months between jobs, and almost a year between gigs when they were starting out. The life of a starving artist may be Bohemian and romantic, but the key word still remained: starving. Maybe he should look in to a Plan B as well.

"Tina, you are so lucky to have a man like him." Tina whimpered and gave Mercedes a soft hug. "And, I'm not fishing for any kind of sympathy or anything. He's just a really good guy, and that's great." She smiled earnestly.

"He is, isn't he? He had this whole romantic dinner set up right after we left the dance. We went to..."

"Wait, he didn't take you to that Korean place again?" Mercedes sounded flabbergasted. Kurt had to admit he was a bit surprised himself, pleasantly so, of course, but surprised nonetheless. Everyone had assumed that since Mike and Tina weren't at Breadstix for the after-Prom dinner, the Situ-Astions had gone to an Asian restaurant instead.. Mike's one failing was his obsession with being 'Asian' enough for his parents. Which, of course, meant dating only Asian girls, and eating only Asian food, and being chaperoned by their Asian parents.

"Nope! He said that he talked it out with his parents and that he wanted to spend a real romantic dinner with me, and they agreed!" Tina squealed and fairly bounced with her excitement. "They didn't even call or text him _once_! My parents didn't, either! It was just the two of us! Then, when we were done, we went to this spot by the lake and talked about... everything! Us, school, college, life after college! Everything! And we just sort of fell asleep watching the stars. We weren't even talking to each other by then, we were just cuddling under the stars and... It was... It was magical!"

"Breadstix?" Mercedes practically drooled over Tina's shoulder.

"No, we went to Riccado's. That small little Italian place on the river?" Tina smiled and grew silent. Kurt could almost see her sitting across a small candle-lit table with Mike, sharing a bottle of sparkling grape juice under the stars and eating over-priced but incredible Italian food while they listened to the river flow beneath them. They'd talk and laugh, and sing a few bars of their favorite songs. Maybe a few musicians would come and serenade them a` la _Lady and the Tramp_. It would be a wonderfully magical night.

Mercedes squealed and wrapped her arms tightly around Tina. "Girl, you have _got _to stay together. For real. I _will_ hurt you if you don't. That boy is too fine to let go." Tina nodded enthusiastically beside her friend, a few happy tears trailing her cheeks. "So, Kurt, what about your night with _Blaine?_" Mercedes grinned slightly as she emphasized his boyfriend's name. As his best friend, she knew all about the Great Romance that was the Kurt-and-Blaine, or as she called it, _Klaine_, love story. And, for someone that said she was above and beyond _needing_a boyfriend to make her happy, she certainly liked to gossip about possible match-ups around school. And she always wanted to hear his latest tidbit of romance.

"Well.. uh.. y'know it wasn't anything like a Disney fairytale like Lady Tina over there. But, it was nice."

"Your boyfriend rushed in and saved the day after that asshole Karofsky abandoned you at the dance! He was your knight in shining armor!" Mercedes gripped her binder as though imaging it was someone's neck. Probably Karofsky's. "That totally counts as Disney Fairytale in my book. And, if I ever get my hands on that homophobic prick's neck..."

"Ya, what'd he think would happen? We would think he's gay?" Tina chuckled and shook her head. "He's dating Santana. Even if it _was_all a sick twisted plot to get you back and, become Prom Queen, they're still totally in lo... they can't keep their hands off each other."

Mercedes nodded fervently. "Ya. Besides, he pretty much screams 'White Macho Man'. If he really had turned over that leaf and decided to be a decent human being, he woulda stayed. No one would have thought anything about it. Even if they did, they'd be too scared to do anything about it. That boy scares the _jocks_."

"It wasn't that big of a deal, really." They looked at him like he'd grown a second head, or decided that Crocs were an appropriate fashion choice. He supposed he had said something pretty out of character. After all, he was defending Karofsky, the former bully that had driven him out of school. It sounded a lot like what a battered wife said about their abusive husbands. "I mean, he had his reasons to leave, and it was an embarrassment to the both of us." Wow. Could he sound any _more_like Patty Hurst? "But, Blaine came in and saved the day and danced with me. It was," Kurt grinned and he knew his whole face lit with a dreamy glow, "it really was magical. He really was my knight in shining armor. Just like you guys said. We just held hands and walked for a bit after the dance down random streets, not really paying attention to where we were going until we ended up at the park. We stopped for a moment under a myrtle tree and then," he paused for dramatic effect. "He told me that he loved me!" Kurt's head smacked loudly against the locker as he was bowled over by both of his friends.

"And then?" Mercedes grinned

"And then.. and then we went to Breadstix and he kissed me goodnight at my door." Kurt smiled shyly. It was pure and chaste and sweet, like in the great romances of the 40s. Kurt and Blaine had Movie Love, none of that nastiness that ruined true romances and turned them into tawdry sick affairs that burned and flared and died as quickly as lightning. No, theirs was the love of ages. They were star-crossed lovers from rival schools. But, he was welcomed with understanding and kindness. There were soft longing looks from across the room; they shared subtle touches as they passed each other in the hall; and, gradually, they drew closer together until they kissed after a heartfelt confession in a quiet study. From then on, they had held hands, and shared soft, quiet words full of love and promise and a bashful shy awkwardness that read like it was fresh from the pages of Jane Austin.

"Wow! That's amazing!" Tina smiled and hugged Kurt again. "That's..." She trailed off and stared down the hall. He turned to follow her gaze and a groan escaped his lips. Dave Karofsky fist-bumped people as he sauntered down the middle of the hall with a dominant smirk plastered on his face.

"I guess things don't change that much after all." The girls looked at Kurt oddly for a moment and then went back to glaring daggers at Karofsky. The Neanderthal ignored them. Although he did shift his bag away from Mercedes. "Nice jacket."

The smirk that slid to a slight frown as Karofsky jerked to a stop by Kurt."What was that, Hummel?"

"Just that I see you made your choice." Mercedes and Tina rubbernecked between Karofsky and Kurt, their heads comically turning from one boy to the next. Finally, they gave up and one settled for watching Kurt while the other tried to stare down Karofsky.

Karofsky shrugged and a faint embarrassed pink tinged the tips of his ears. "Ya, well, it fit."

"So did the other one. Better, I might add. It was distinctive."

"It was totally gay." Kurt cocked an eye at that, but the jock pressed on. "If Santana hadn't made me wear it, I never woulda put that damned thing on! Now that Prom's over, I can forget I was ever in that stupid club."

"It was unique. You stood out. People saw you. That's what clothes are supposed to do." He sneered and stared down his nose at the footballer. Not an easy feat since Karofsky had a good four inches on him. "Now, you look just like them," he motioned towards the jocks tossing a Freshman back and forth down the hall. "Why don't you go join them?"

"Look, I just came over to see if you needed someone to walk you to your Civics class, since that's your first period, and after what happened Saturday, I figgered you wouldn't want to do it alone." Karofsky looked around the hall, as though bullies and monster waited to leap out from the lockers and classrooms.

"That would be..."

"Man, get the _Hell_ out of here!" Mercedes shoved Karofsky back a few steps. "You think after what you did we'd let you anywhere _near _Kurt again? You're all kinds of dumb if you think that." Her head started to weave back and forth and she shook her finger in Karofsky's face. It was a tad comical in a way, to see a gorilla like David Karofsky recoiling from someone as small and generally physically inept as Mercedes Jones. Still, she could be _very _intimidating when she needed to be. "You make fun of him for being the way he is all through high school. Then, you _say_ you're sorry, so you can get in Santana's pants, or whatever, and act like his fucking bodyguard. But when push comes to shove, you don't even have the _balls_to stand up to some punks that are too chickenshit to pick on someone to their face!"

Karofsky stumbled backwards and smacked into the lockers on the opposite side of the hallway and Kurt gave short burst of a laugh at the bewildered expression on his face. The hurt that blossomed in Karofsky's eyes, though, made him wish he hadn't. "Really, Mercedes, it's not that bad I told him I forgave him, and I meant it." He tried to catch the jock's eye to give added weight to his words.

Unfortunately, the other two hadn't heard him. "You really believe that, Hummel? You think I set you up, too?" Karofsky shook his head and sneered. "Fine. Whatever. Stay the fuck out of my way, then, or I might just slushee you myself." He slammed his fist into a locker, causing everyone, Mercedes and Kurt included, to jump, and he stormed down the hall, sending kids flying out of his way.

"You didn't have to do that, Mercedes. I really have forgiven him."

"Please, that boy is all kinds of evil. You need to stay away from him, and he sure as _Hell_ don't deserve your pity _or_your forgiveness."

"I understand him, Mercedes. That's all."

"How the Hell can you understand him, Kurt? He's a monster!"

"Ya, Kurt, he's a bully. He's mean to everyone. Just look at the way he's pushing kids around, now. He hasn't really changed." Tina flipped back a lock of purple-dyed hair. "If he's nice, it's because Santana's forcing him to be nice. He's nothing like you, or any of us. He's like one of them." She gestured towards the jocks. "It's like Mercedes said, he's a monster."

The bell rang and the three friends rushed to class. The jocks were still pushing the Freshman around. Karofsky had stormed off around a corner. Nothing had changed.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: I don't own Glee. Glee is the creation of Ryan Murphy and is owned by Fox. It's not mine. I make no claims to it. I'm just using the characters for fun.

Chapter 4

Dave Karofsky stormed down the halls of McKinley High like a bulldozer. The argument at Kurt's locker burned in his mind and sent him into a fury he hadn't felt in _weeks_. Not since Kurt came back, at least. He needed to blow off steam. Hard. In the old days, he'd have just found some twerps to pound. But, Santana and Principal Figgins had made it perfectly clear what would happen if he stepped out of line again. Instead, he needed to find Santana. They could make out and he could pretend she was a dude, and she could pretend he was Brittany, and he could work off his steam with some innocent necking until he was safe to be around again.

He found her at her locker giggling with Brittany about something. Probably about how they'd paint each others' toenails after scissoring tonight. Who knew what girls talked about? Girls were weird. When they were straight, they talked about lip balm, and colors, and, like, their periods and shit and weird stuff like that. Lesbians were like extra-girls. They were like chicks that liked chicks, which meant they had _no _idea how to talk to guys, but they kinda thought like guys since they dug chicks like guys, which was weird. He shook his head to clear up the confusion. Thinking about things like that hurt his head. Instead, he gently wrapped his arms around Santana's waist and softly nuzzled her neck. "Hey sexy." Brittany gave a small whimper and pouted towards the floor. What was her problem? She knew the game, right? Everyone acts straight in public, and then whatever she and Santana did in private was up to them. As long as he got Santana at school, who cared? It wasn't like anything was _really_ happening anyways. Besides, _Santana _was the one that came up with this stupid plan to begin with!

"Hey, Papi." Santana dragged her nails down Dave's arm hard enough to leave thick red scratches where she pressed into his flesh. "_Maldito idiota. Quiero estar con mi novia, ahora mismo. Ve a buscar a un gigoló a la mierda, y me llaman por la mañana.._"(1)

"Aw, Honey, you know I only pass Schue's class 'cause I'm dating you." He squeezed her waist tightly and nuzzled her neck. He didn't want to hurt her, but he did want to get her attention. Besides, to anyone walking down the hall, it looked like he was necking her. He needed to use every opportunity to keep up the lie if he was going to survive until graduation. "I just wanted to try and get some loving in before First Period."

"Ugh, get a room, you two." That Jones chick that got up in his face when he was talking to Kurt glared daggers at him as she walked by. The Asian chick Chang was dating made a barfing noise. Was it _that _ bizarre that someone could find him attractive? Ya, he and Santana were only faking it, but still, it had to be at least possible that someone would want to date him. Right?

"Hey, Mercedes, you wanna piece of this?" Santana practically melted out of his arms to start screeching at that Jones chick. "He is _my _man. You hear? And what I wants ta do, wi' mah man, is mah bi'ness and _nobody_ else's. You hear? Go back to taking my slopping seconds, diva girl, and leave me to the main course!"

"That's not hard to do, since you've _slept _with half the students here." Asian Chick gripped Jones' arm to pull her back away as Dave wrapped his arms around Santana's waist and easily lifted her off her feet. For his efforts, Santana dug her nails deep into his arm to brace herself and started shrieking at Jones in Spanish.

"_Yo soy de _Lima Heights Adjacent_, y me siento orgulloso! ¿Sabes lo que pasa allí? COSAS MALAS! Voy a cortar, perra!_" Santana's voice had become almost impossible to hear, it was that loud, and Dave had begun to seriously regret his position. Especially when he saw blood well up from under his fake girlfriend's very real nails. Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about that too much since she pulled her nails out of his arm and backhanded him in the side of his face. Hard. He blinked the stars away, but tightened his grip. A pissed off Santana was bad enough, but, at least she was pissed at someone else. If he dropped her, he might not walk away from the experience with his hearing or his balls. She did say she kept razor blades in her hair. "Karofsky_, me dejó!_" She turned back to Mercedes with a vicious snarl. "_¡Voy a cortar! ¡Que se aleje de mí y me va a terminar, perra! ¡Maldita zorra! ¡Que el hombre robando puta!_"(2)

Now, Dave barely paid attention in Spanish class. Mr. Schuester was boring on his best days. And, truthfully, Dave never saw him on his best days. He only took the class because he figured it'd look good on his transcripts if he had four years of a foreign language. He didn't feel like actually working in class, so he skipped Japanese, and French was completely gay. German hadn't even been an option because of when he watched _Schindler's List _when he stayed at Puck's house that one time in Fifth Grade. Besides, everyone knew that Schue's class was a fluff course. However, even sleeping in class, he managed to pick up a few things. And, what he hadn't absorbed from Schue's class, he had learned from Santana. She had a _very_ dirty mouth. If he understood right, he could only hope that Jones didn't know even half of what he did. "Hey, Babe, let's back off now, OK? You made your point. We'll just back away."

"That's right, girl! You back away from me. I _will _hurt you." Jones dragged Asian Chick a few inches towards where Dave struggled with his surprisingly strong girlfriend Santana was herself nearly doubled over in half in Dave's arms, her arms outstretched like claws trying to tear out Jones' face.

Dave hauled backwards and slammed his back into the lockers and pulled Santana tightly to his chest. "Just forget about all this. It's OK, Santana. You have me, it's OK."

Santana grinned wickedly and kissed him fiercely with an almost possessive force. "Thanks, Babe. You're right. I do have you. I have boutique top of the rack goodness. I don't need to go dumpster diving for leftovers like homeless losers and or crawling after dead beat dads. I has me a _real_ man." She licked his cheek and kissed him again, and then whipped around to face Jones. He followed the motion and rested his arms around her shoulders and waist. He wished he hadn't. Brittany had backed away from the cat fight and looked like she wished she was anywhere but in that hallway. Asian Chick had dropped Jones' arm and stared at Santana in shock and barely-contained anger. Wow. OK, Asian Chick was kinda scary, even beyond the whole Goth thing. He definitely didn't want to get on her bad side. Jones, though, that was different. She just stood in place with this hurt and shamed look on her face, with tears dripping down her cheek. She didn't say a word, just cried. A couple of jocks down the hall laughed at the scene, but no one noticed. He saw Brittany turn and run down the hall and Asian Chick pulled Jones into the bathroom. He found himself linking arms with Santana as she stalked down the hall with her 'bitch smirk' on and the crowds _melted_ in front of them.

Then, they were in the janitor's closet and he felt Santana's lips pressed to his. Biting, clawing, pressing. There was need. They both needed this. They needed to taste, to feel to explore. To hate. He was pissed. He was furious at Kurt for making him feel the way he did. He was pissed at every _fucking _lie he had built up around his secret. He was pissed that Santana had found out and dragged him into even more lies to protect _her_ secret. He was pissed that Kurt had seen through it all, even the parts he hadn't witnessed. He was pissed that Kurt had told someone, and _that_ person had seen through his lies as well. He was pissed that he couldn't just _once_ be a normal, happy, decent person and have normal, happy, decent relationships. He had to have something that was sick and twisted and wrong. That was the only way to describe what was going on between the two of them. It wasn't love. It wasn't lust. It was fear. They were using each other to hide, and no act, no deceit, no hurt could be too great to stay hidden. But, he didn't let himself care. He used the rage, like he always did, and forced himself to kiss Santana, even as his mind straightened her curves to more masculine angles and lines and turned her breasts into sculpted pecs.

Somehow, his shirt came off and she ran his hands across his chest and down his flat stomach. His muscles twitched in response. He didn't have the abs that Sam had (no one did, that guy must work out _constantly_) but he wasn't as pudgy there as he used to be. "Brittany, you're so fucking hot."

Reality hit him like a cold shower. He wasn't making out with a guy. He was making out with a girl. His fake girlfriend. He was standing in a closet kissing the one person he possibly hated more than himself. The irony hit him like a ton of bricks and he backed away from her like he had been burned. She rolled her eyes and snarled as she stepped away as well. Not that it mattered, of course, the closet was very small, and either of them could have wrapped the other in a hug if they had wanted to. But, they didn't. They had the wrong parts and too much of the wrong emotions between them to warrant that affection.

"We need to break up." He stared at her in horror. As horrible as it was to _date_ Santana, she was the hottest girl in school. Dating her made the lie so easy he didn't even need to think about it. He could walk around with a fucking cock in his mouth while shitting glitter and rainbows and riding a fucking unicorn. As long as he had Santana fucking Lopez saying she was giving him blow jobs and kissing him in closets and shit, then it was all fucking fine. Everyone knew she was into the freaky stuff, anyways, so maybe that was what she wanted him to do. Anything was excusable if he dated her.

"If you do that, I'm fucked, Santana. You know it." He grabbed her by the shoulders, heedless of the warning fire that burned in her eyes. "You blackmailed _me._ You set me up with that fucking _gay_ outfit with the Bully Whips. You back out now, and … dude. After Prom, you think I can walk away from this and still be on top? Shit. They'll out me. You know they'll do it. They'll figure it out and then I'm done. Even if they don't, I won't survive. They'll attack. The Puckheads are already trying to take over. I'm the only thing that's keeping them in check. Don't look at me like that, you know it's true. They hate me for going rogue on them and joining football, too. And, they've been looking for a chance. Fuck! You can't do this to me!"

"Brittany broke up with Artie." Her voice was soft and quiet. Vulnerable. He wrapped her in his arms and let her sob into his chest. "I know I've ruined everything, Dave. I know. I set this whole thing up, and it's falling apart! I was just so afraid of losing Brittany. I thought... I thought that if I was Prom Queen I could make her believe that she should dump Wheels and be with me. That it was, like, a law or something." He guffawed at that. Brittany might believe that, but it sounded like such a hare-brained schemed it'd only work on a show on Fox. "Brittany was with Artie, so I thought it'd be OK. She said she wouldn't date me if she's dating someone else." Santana sobbed and buried her face into his shirt. Why was he trying to console her? _Why _did he give a rat's ass about her? He _hated _her. Didn't he? "She said she loved him almost as much as she loved me. But, then, they broke up. And I was with you, and I had Prom. So I couldn't be with her. But, now, Prom's over, and summer's almost here, and she and I... we could be together! We can finally be together! Nothing's in the way, now."

Nothing except him. And their lies. That was always important to remember. The lies were _always_ there. "Well.. then we'll just become a threesome. Everyone knows you're into the freaky shit, anyways, right? So, we'll just say that you're pissed at me for losing Prom, and that I have to date Brittany, too, to keep you interested, or something." Wait.. that sounded off somehow. "Most guys would _kill_ to have two chicks into him. And, it's like every straight guy's wet dream to get in on some lesbo action. This could work!"

Santana laughed and shook her head, which he didn't understand. Why was it so hard to believe? It was already working. They had a good thing. It was sick and twisted and wrong, but it worked. Everyone believed. Adding Brittany would only make him look even more awesome. "I already asked her. It's what we were talking about when you hugged me. She said she doesn't want to share. She doesn't want to hide. She's trying to figure out herself and what she likes, but she says she can't do that if she has to lie." She laughed again. "Brittany says it's too confusing to lie." Santana let go and he let her slip from his arms.

"So, you have a choice." Santana just looked at him. "You've already made it." She nodded. He scrubbed his hand over his face, surprised to find tears in his eyes. "Will you give me the rest of the year? Please?" She nodded and he felt relief. School let out in a few weeks, by then they could work out some kind of exit strategy that allowed him to save face.

"She'll be OK with that, I think. She understands what we have." He was surprised to hear that. Brittany was _very_ dense. "She doesn't think it's right, but she understands."

"Oh." He looked at the floor in shame. Brittany was the kind of girl that really did believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. If _she_ knew something was wrong, then it was _really_ wrong. "I guess that's something, then, right?"

Santana nodded and picked up her bag. "We'll figure something out. I have Nationals in two weeks, and Finals are the week after. So, I guess we have about two more weeks of face time to break up. We'll figure something out." Her face was already schooled into her usual sneer and her eyes were no longer tinged with red. "_Lo siento. Por favor, perdóname, mi querido amigo. Mi único amigo. Nunca quise hacerte daño."(3) _ The words were gentle and heartfelt, so unlike the mask she wore. Whatever she had said, it must have meant a lot to her because a few more tears trailed down her cheeks and she leaned on her toes to press her lips to Dave's cheek. It was soft and gentle and chaste, nothing like the Santana he knew at all. She opened the door with a sad smile and stepped out of the closet, shutting him inside. Alone.

(1)According to Google Translate, this means: "You fucking idiot. I want to be with my girlfriend, right now. Go find a gigolo to fuck, and call me in the morning.."

(2)The Almighty Google Translator has spoken in tongues! "I am from Lima Heights Adjacent, and I am proud! Do you know what happens there? BAD THINGS! I will cut you, bitch! Karofsky, put me down! I will cut you! You walk away from me and I will end you, bitch! You fucking slut! You man stealing whore!"

(3)Or as Google the Polyglot translates: "I'm sorry. Please forgive me, my dearest friend. My only friend. I never meant to hurt you."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: I don't own Glee. Glee is the creation of Ryan Murphy and is owned by Fox. It's not mine. I make no claims to it. I'm just using the characters for fun.

**Chapter 5**

Dave blew off First Period and hid in the locker room, finding comfort in the mingled stenches of stale sweat, stagnant water, wet clothing, and oiled equipment. The stench of manliness. Ever since grade school, Karofsky had found relief in that odor, and the places he associated with it. He started playing hockey and football when he was in Kindergarten for the pee-wee league. By third grade, he was good enough (and big enough) to play with the sixth graders. Sixth graders! He'd always been a big kid. Big and dumb. Everyone knew that the big kids were meaner and dumber than everyone else.. So, he had acted the part, and been meaner and dumber than all the other kids at school (not that it had worked, since he was _still_ years ahead of everyone else in Math, and he had to hide his science books. Although, being in a higher math class had just reinforced the stigma that the big kid was dumb, since he wasn't in math with the rest of the kids his age. They just assumed that he was with the younger kids.) He'd bullied everyone, even the other jocks, because that's what the biggest kid in school did. Dad was proud, too, because he had the biggest, toughest kid for a son (that still got good grades), and he was the star of the hockey team _and _football team. He was always the star on any team he was on.

That's what the biggest kid in school was.

He _hated_ being big. Ever since he started to shoot up like a rocket in grade school, Dave had been picked on for being too big. He hated that he had to buy clothes in the teen section when he was in fourth grade and then the adult section when he was in sixth. It was impossible to wear anything that looked fancy or special, or even hope to follow trends. It wasn't a big deal, since dressing up wasn't really his style, but it'd be nice to have had the _option_ of being fashionable. Instead, sweatshirts, jeans, and tees were about the extent of what would fit his large frame. The polo shirt became his go-to for dressing up. God, but he _hated _ polo shirts.

In school, the real world, and life in general, being big was a setback, freakish. In sports, however, being big was _good_, especially contact sports like hockey and football. The bigger you were, the more you could dominate the field. Coaches praised his 'natural talent and skill'. Which was just a nicer way of saying they liked his freakishness and encouraged his aggression. They _wanted_ him to play for them. In gym class, or during recess games, Dave was always the first picked, because he was _big._ Suddenly, the same kids who teased him for being huge and then ran from him for being mean _liked _him for being freakish. So, he had retreated to the lockers and the weight room in school. He had gone where he was liked, where his size was an asset, not a hindrance. And, more importantly, he became the bully they thought he was.

And so, today, after so much _drama_ and anger and fear, Dave had retreated to the one place he felt truly at home. He felt the tension leave him as soon as he entered the lockers. Here, he was safe. Here, he didn't have to worry about acting gay, or smart. Here, the only thing that mattered were tasks: lift, shower, dress out, repeat. No one paid attention to each others' junk or what they were or weren't looking at. He could joke around with the guys, and just _be. _Life was simple in the lockers. He quickly stalked to his locker and changed into his workout clothes. Bieste said she wanted him to trim up a bit for hockey next year, which meant he needed to pack on more muscle for padding on football, so he threw on two sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants over his standard skin-tight workout shirt and athletic shorts. His life was always like that, do more of this, do less of that, but be ready for both. He needed to be bigger and heavier than everyone else in football so he could crush the opposing line. But, he needed to be trim and tight so he could speed down the ice in hockey. It was a balancing act of gaining weight and losing weight that left him constantly frustrated and hating his body even more than he already had. Tanaka hadn't cared, though, and had told him to just pack on the pounds and then lose them as fast as he could any way he could. And, to a large extent, Dave had. He'd gone on insane crash diets, brutal boot-camp style exercise programs that only the most hardened pro athlete would tolerate. The net some was the chubby sweaty mound he saw every time he looked in the mirror. Bieste had put a stop to that, though. She had everyone on a diet and exercise plan-even that Wheelchair Kid. She had said that they could do real harm to themselves if they didn't learn to eat and work right, and that if they wanted to stay on the team, they'd better shape up or ship out.

Coach Bieste would be pissed if she saw what he was going to do. She'd be pissed if she saw him in the weight room at all, Bieste was one of those coaches that thought school was important. She was weird like that. He checked himself one more time and then he dove into the weight room, losing himself in the rhythmic pump and flex of his muscles as he pushed the weights against gravity.

First period blew by in a blur, and still he pumped. Sweat dripped freely from his sodden clothes and he hardly noticed. He didn't register the bell ringing for Second period, or the guys walking in for gym class. He did notice Azimio patting his shoulder when he moved to work his legs, but it didn't matter. If anyone was dumb enough to talk, Azimio would put a stop to it. He could just stay in the locker room, where life made sense, and all he needed to do was keep moving his body, lifting heavier and heavier weights. For awhile, he managed to forget about Santana and the lies they'd built around each other. He forgot about Kurt and how fucked up that whole mess was. He forgot about being gay or straight, smart or dumb, big or small, strong or weak. He forgot about everything he was supposed to be and not be. He simply was.

Third period came and went with a brief interruption from that douche Hudson. Dave snapped something unpleasant in his direction, and the wuss clamped shut. How could that guy be the fucking Quarterback and Captain if he couldn't fucking stand up to a couple of barks from one of his players? Fucking pansy didn't deserve a chick like Berry. On second thought, maybe he did, considering how fucking _annoying_ that chick was. But, when her mouth was shut, she was _smoking_. So, maybe it all averaged out in the end. He didn't really care, though. Berry didn't have Sam's abs. Those abs were fucking _hot_. Anyone would kill to have those abs. Hell, Puck would probably go gay for those abs. Dave needed to have those abs. If he had those abs, then maybe some gay guy out there would actually pay attention to him. Maybe Kurt would have paid attention to him.

Fuck him. Whatever. Hudson was a douche, Sam was a moron, and Kurt was a fucking bitch. He didn't mean that, though. Not really. Kurt was high maintenance, sure, but he was high maintenance like Quinn was before she went all psycho Prom-Queen: the kind of high maintenance that had you _begging_ to actually be allowed to do anything for her, just so you could be near her a little longer. Quinn had been like that. Kurt was _still_ like that.

Hudson said something else and Dave lost his train of thought. He snarled something back, it didn't even sound like English to him. Fuck it, whatever, it was hard to think when he was pumping iron. Whatever it was, it must have sounded pretty bad because that fucking douche actually ran away like a whipped puppy. Puckerman, at least, had the decency to call him out. That almost got Dave off the bench. But, then, he felt the weights pushing down on his legs, and he just _had_ to keep lifting, so he settled for a few curses and called it square.

Somewhere around second period, he had developed something of a mild cult following, but he hadn't noticed it until Third when Puck came back. Guys had started to sneak into the lockers between classes or were 'going to the bathroom' just to watch him move. Questions flew like the wind: Was he on steroids? Did he kill someone? Did he break up with Santana Lopez? Was he _still dating_ Santana Lopez? Did he lose a bet? Was he winning a bet? Once the rumors started to fly, Puck had cut class as well and had posted a sort bookies' board above Dave's head posting numbers and stats for everything from the reason he was working out and skipping class (the closest was working off steam from a fight with Santana) to the maximum weight he could lift (dead lift at 250 lbs, not even close). The current running number Puck was pitching was his max number of push-ups. That bothered him, too, and just gave him more fuel for the pump.

_They're still treating me like a fucking freak. I fucking _rule _this school, and I'm just a freak jock. _He snarled at the floor and continued his push-ups. _Puck better give me a fucking cut of his dough, or he's gonna learn what the Fury's all about._

"Dude, what the Hell?" That sounded like that new kid, Sam. He was OK, so far, even if he was on that faggy glee club. He managed to get the Ice Queen all hot and bothered after Finn dumped her ass (and how fucking weak was that?) so that went a long way towards building his rep. Plus, he took care of his body and tried to be a good athlete. Dave had to respect that.

Sam was _smoking _hot, too. Dave _really_ respected that. He turned his head a bit to try and catch a glimpse of Sam. All he saw was his ass. That was OK, too. Sam had a nice ass.

"We're taking bets on how long Karofsky can go before fagging out." Puck chuckled and tapped something out of Dave's vision. Not that he could see much pumping against the floor. "Got him at fifteen for three."

"How long has he been going?"

"Since First period. So, that makes a little over three hours." Puck laughed. "He's been doing push-ups since Lunch, though." Dave's stomach grumbled and he suddenly wished that Puck hadn't mentioned Lunch. He normally ate every meal, sticking strictly to Biestes's plan. But, he'd lost himself in the rhythm of his exercise, and now he regretted skipping any of his meals.

"How many's he done so far?"

"He's up to two hundred or so. I lost count around one-ninety, but that was twenty minutes ago, so two-twenty, two-twenty-five?"

Dave sneered and flipped onto his back, gasping for air as he began to do crunches. "Three fifty."

"What?" Did Puck actually gulp? The prick had gone to fucking juvie, and he was freaked out by a guy doing crunches? Seriously? Damn, he thought _nothing_ got to Puckerman. That could be useful in the future if he ever needed that criminal for anything..

"I did three hundred and fifty push-ups, Puckerman." He needed to stop talking, he was getting tired enough as it was, and talking was just wasting his energy and oxygen. If he was going to pound out his crunches, he needed to focus on the moves, and not get distracted.

"Shit, put me down for twenty on crunches. Three-fifty." Puck rattled off some stat that Sam grumbled about. It couldn't have been too shallow, though, since Dave saw Puck write some stuff on his board.

Dave didn't care what was being traded over his workout. He only cared about pushing himself until he collapsed. He wanted to forget today, last week, Hell he wanted to forget the whole fucking year ever happened. He _needed_ to forget. And, he _would _if he could just get this set of crunches out of the way.

"What the Hell is going on here?" Shit. Beiste. Dave smirked as the jocks and guys fled the locker room like a bunch of pansies. They should stay and take their licks like men. "That you, Karofsky? What the Hell, Karofsky!"

"Coach." He smirked and kept doing his crunches.

"The Hell you doing, boy?" Beiste glowered down at Dave, which only made his smirk widen. He supposed not having any oxygen going to his brain made him a bit stupid.

"Crunches, Coach." Yup, no oxygen made him a smartass.

"I can see that." He kept going and even sped up his pace. He couldn't let himself get distracted if he was going to beat his record. "You skipped class." Unfortunately, Bieste didn't seem to think that beating his record was important. She was weird like that.

"Yup. Only. Way. To. Beat. Record." He winced as he spoke. His abs _hurt. _Hell, his whole body hurt. His muscles screamed in agony as he worked them beyond his exhaustion point. Everything Coach Beiste had to told him had said that he shouldn't push himself this hard. Forget about _could_ do serious injury. It was only a matter of time before he really hurt himself the way he was going. As it was, he wouldn't be able to do any amount of exercise for at least a week. Not that he'd pay attention to _that _rule, either. He was going to be _sore_ tomorrow, but it was the only way.

"Stop, Karofsky."

"Can't, Coach." Sweat flew from his face and spattered the floor and her legs. If Beiste noticed, she didn't let on. A lot of guys would have given the jocks a hard time for having a chick coach - _he _would have given them a hard time - but, Coach Beiste was beast. She was hardcore. In one season she had fixed what Tanaka had ruined through years of neglect and incompetence. The football team had won a championship game for the first time in _decades_, and she had taken an already awesome hockey team and made them unstoppable. Defying her stung hurt like a blow to the nuts. But, he needed to keep pushing himself to beat all the weakness out of himself.

"You need to stop." Dave grunted a response and kept working. If he worked, he'd beat his record. If he beat his record then he... He saw rather than felt her foot press against his raised chest and then firmly force him back to the floor. He couldn't feel anything but a general pain in every muscle of his body. His body hurt as much as the rest of him hurt. God, but that sounded fucking emo as fuck. "I said _stop_, Karofsky. It's over."

"I can't." She sighed and put a bit more of her weight on his chest. He whimpered, and tried to push himself up but, his muscles gave up on him and he collapsed on the floor with another whimper. Coach Beiste wasn't even pushing him down that hard.

"You gonna puke?"

He shook his head. "No, Coach."

Bieste gave a small nod and sigh as she hauled him to his feet. Her hand clamp around his sweaty neck like a vice and she used that grip to steer him around like a child. "We're going to Ms. Pillsbury's office." He gulped and tried to bolt for the door, but Beiste's grip was too tight and in his exhausted state he didn't have the strength to fight her. He wasn't going anywhere.

He was screwed.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: I don't own Glee. Glee is the creation of Ryan Murphy and is owned by Fox. It's not mine. I make no claims to it. I'm just using the characters for fun.

**Chapter 6**

Emma Pilsbury was frantic. No. She was _livid. _She had always prided herself for keeping her cool in any situation: disgruntled parents, student fights, Sue Sylvester, even messes and germs could not break her calm and professional exterior. The students _needed_ her to be the calm one, the sane one. That was her job. Whatever her own... issues... she could delay her reaction until she was alone. However, after dealing with two angry fathers determined to take out their frustrations on each other, and then trying to cheer up a sobbing Mercedes Jones, and then 'counseling' away the impulse control and all-around immaturity of the rather jejune and no-doubt unwashed disaster that was Rick 'the Stick' Nelson, she had had about enough of any shenanigans from _anyone, _student or adult. She had just begun to organize her row of pamphlets (so neat and organized, those pamphlets. They were the perfect tools for her message: three simple flaps filled with information, phone numbers, and wisdom. They were her own little Godsend) when her door flew open with a colossal thud that sent her out of her chair with a loud squeak of protest and her precious _organized_ pamphlets raining down around her like perfectly organized three-paneled snow. They pooled around her feet and desk in drifts and puddles of former perfection. She bent to scoop them into the rubbish (she couldn't possibly _use_ them after they'd been soiled by her carpet - people's' _shoes _touched that thing!) when her nose was accosted by the most foul _reek_. It was like standing in Ken Tanaka's locker room all over again with every gym bag from every jock open and stuffed with sweaty, reeking, germ-filled, _dirty_, clothes. Emma's hand flew to cover her nose and mouth to prevent the germs and mess from getting into her body and making _her _messy.

"Get inside and sit down!" Coach Beiste hollered and shoved a sweat-drenched and _reeking_ David Karofsky into her formerly pristine office. Emma gave a small whimper in protest, much to her own dismay, as David stumbled in and collapsed into one of the soft upholstered chairs that she had meticulously cleaned earlier that morning. She could _see_ the sweat soaking into the cloth, staining it with his _germs. _She could actually hear the bacteria growing!

"What.. what's... Oh, oh _my_!" She choked down the urge to cry at the mayhem and filth. "C-C-Coach Beiste, oh, dear! What's going on?"

"My star forward decided to cut half his classes today so he could kill himself in the weight room." David's lip twisted in a faint smirk, but he shrugged and hung his head in apparent shame. "What the _Hell_ were you thinking, Karofsky?" She growled at the shrug he gave her.

Emma turned towards David and gave a small exasperated sigh. "David, remember your conditions to return back to school? You need to keep your grades up and you need to stay out of trouble.." He shrugged again. "Did you cut classes because of what happened with Kurt Hummel?" His head leaped up at that, eyes so wide they were bulging from his head like a frog's. "I see, well David, we can't..."

"What happened with Hummel?" If anything, Coach Beiste sounded even _less_ pleased than she did before. Emma fought the urge to cover her ears. Shannon Beiste had a very loud voice.

"Apparently, they had some kind of disagreement in the halls. Mercedes Jones and Tina Cohen-Chang witnessed the whole thing." The bell rang, signaling the start of Fourth Period. As students rushed to their next classes, Emma thought mournfully about the life that was going to be crushed in mere moments. "It had something to do with Prom, from what I understand. And, it continued with Santana and Mercedes arguing in the halls as well. Apparently, David's at the center of this whole mess."

"WHAT?" Coach Beiste whirled on her star forward, and, for a moment, Emma was reminded of a roaring bear ready to tear a dear limb from limb.. But, no blows fell on the young athlete's head. Instead, Coach Beiste crossed her considerable arms across her chest and fixed the young man with a stern glare. "You are a _student_ athlete, Karofsky. You're supposed to be _everything _this school can offer, athletically, and academically. You're held to a higher standard, not because you're better than everyone else, but because you _choose _to represent an ideal that no one else can _ever _hope to achieve. A _brain_ and a jock. The perfect well-rounded student: moral, educated, athletic, and generous." Emma's breath caught in her throat. Coach Beiste painted a picture she had longed to see in her students. "You represent this school on the field and off it. You are supposed to be a model citizen and student, a peer and role model for _all _people to look up to and emulate_, not_ a common thug. You disappoint me." Coach Beiste's voice was soft, delicate. Feminine. Emma felt as though the Coach truly was heart-broken over her athlete's actions. "You're off the team."

David choked back a sob as silent tears trailed down his cheeks. His whole frame shook with emotions, exactly what, Emma could not say. But, judging by the mixture she saw playing about his face, many of them were a variety of rage and shame. Part of her thrilled to see David suffer. It was perfect retribution. David had ruined so many lives, terrorized so many children. He deserved to have his own life ruined.

But that look on his face. This was a defining moment for David Karofsky, one of those few that educators were truly lucky to be privy to. Emma sensed, no, she _knew_, that if David was kicked off the hockey team, he would become... worse. The lull in his bullying would only be that: a lull. Instead, it'd grow worse until one day he really did kill Kurt or someone like him. He might even kill himself. She needed to save him. As much as she needed to save Kurt and make McKinley High safe for everyone, she needed to save David Karofsky. "That might be a bit premature, Coach Beiste."

"I do _not_ allow bigots on my team, Ms. Pilsbury."

"Well... um... no, we certainly wouldn't want _that_."

"I didn't do _anything_." David mumbled towards the floor.

"I thought..."

"I didn't do anything at Prom. I haven't done anything since Kurt came back." His throat worked for a a moment as he struggled to gain control of himself. "Since I started dating Santana. I meant what I said to Fi.. Principal Figgins, we watched these videos and read these stories about kids killing themselves because of being bullied and stuff. And, I didn't want _that. _ Ya, I said I'd kill him that time. But, that was just to scare him. I didn't... I didn't _want_ to kill anyone or have anyone want to die to get away from me. I'm not a monster."

"Cut the crap, Karofsky. What was that stuff Miss Pilsbury said happened?" Coach Bieste glowered down at the boy with such a stern and furious look that Emma felt she knew how a female coach could keep a classroom full of male students in line in the locker room. She was _very _intimidating. She wondered how she could learn that look.

"I was just asking him if he wanted me to walk him to his Civics class! That's all! Everything got all confused after that. Jones got all in my face because she thought she had to protect Kurt from me, or whatever. And then Kurt said he thought I'd set him up at Prom." He gulped and looked away.

"What happened at Prom?" Emma looked at Coach Bieste for an answer but only got a shrug as a response. She'd heard that something bad happened, but no one wanted to talk about it. Principal Figgins just started stammering and said something about Asian vampires and a fight. Somehow she didn't think that vampires, Asian or otherwise, were to blame. Sue only said something about a sick joke and she was both appalled and in awe of the criminal mastermind that had orchestrated the whole affair. Somehow, according to Sue, the illegitimate love child of Kim Jong-Il and Idi Amin, cannibal, sole surviving heir to the Scottish throne, _and_ Asian vampire, had snuck with cat-like reflexes and the skills of a CIA-trained ninja into the gym to change the ballots in a counter-move in her ongoing war against chairs. She doubted that explanation even more than Principal Figgins' Asian vampire theory. Sue did, however, mention something about bigoted bullies too cowardly to stand up and face their target head-on.

"He was elected Prom Queen." David sniffed and looked at the floor. "I didn't do it! I don't know who did-no one does. None of the jocks are talking about it. So.. I don't know."

"Oh." Emma blinked. That was horrible! Who would do that to someone? That was just beyond cruel. "And Principal Figgins let it happen?" David shrugged again. "Oh my!"

"You knew about this?" Coach Bieste's hand clamped down on the back of David's chair. He jumped and shook his head, no. "If it was one of my boys, I'll find out." David slumped deeper into his chair. "I'll get to the bottom of this." She glowered down at him, and he sank into his chair more. "I don't tolerate bigots on my team. And, I don't care for a spit in the wind if one of my boys is 'reformed' or whatever. Fact is, he threatened to kill a kid and he pushed others around. He's a good player, but he's not _that _good. Gimme one good reason to keep him on."

"OK, Coach Bieste, that's um..." Emma searched for the right words. How could she describe the need to keep David on the teams? "Now... um...I think that sports are, possibly, the only solace David has in his life." The look of hope that flashed in David's eyes before being crushed by that ever present weight of fear and anger was confirmation enough for her theory. "Taking hockey away is not a punishment that fits his crime."

Coach Beiste gave a slight nod to her. She understood. "He is not living up to the model I expect my athletes to be."

"There has to be some way he could prove that he deserves to be on the team. Something he could do to work off the shame?" She was calm. She was a rock. She was crying inside, begging to be right that Coach Beiste understood what was at stake. Maybe she needed to give her some guidance as well? "He will be here during lunch and an hour before and after school. We will be working on anger management strategies, and career planning, and applying for scholarships to college." She smiled and nodded towards David. She hoped it looked encouraging. "Along with doing homework and keeping his grades up. I understand that you're in Calculus as a Junior? That must be challenging." He shrugged and kept his eyes glued to the floor.

Coach Beiste sighed heavily through her nose, something Emma was grateful for. Mouths were so _messy_. They had saliva and germs and smells. "You're benched until I see an improvement in your behavior." Dave's head sunk into his shoulders and he slumped into himself. "Every morning, starting at five sharp, you will be in my locker room, working the weights." Dave started and stared at his coach in shock. "Then, you will go to Miss. Pilsbury. You will go to _every_ class on time, and turn in _all _homework. After school, you will go to the locker room, _immediately_ after leaving Miss. Pilsbury and work the weights again until seven. To keep your talent up, because you _do_ have potential, you will run drills for two hours after practice. During practices and games you will take notes on every play and every strategy you see. You will inform me of strengths and weaknesses in your fellow players and create plays to utilize their skills as well as solutions to support their weaknesses so that _they_ can be better players as well. You're going to pitch in for middle school sports camp, too this summer. If you fail to do to anything that I have just stated, or fail to do anything that Ms. Pilsbury asks you, you are off the team. Do you understand?"

David nodded, barely, but his head _did_ move. Emma nodded as well. Coach Beiste _did _understand. This was justice. He would be kept from the thing he loved, but he not deprived entirely. And, he could get it back. He would grow as a player, and as a person. Instead of closing doors and trapping him in this life he was obviously trying to break free of, doors would be opened and he would have the opportunity to be free. He was removed from contact with those he terrorized. The punishment fit the crime. And, most importantly, he would learn how to help others, and encourage and nurture their strengths. He would become a better player for this, a better teammate, and a better person. If only she could do this for _every_ jock and bully on campus.

"Answer me."

"Yes, Coach." David nodded, tears silently falling down his cheeks.

"Good." Coach Beiste turned to Emma with a smile. "He's yours until four, right?" Emma nodded. "Good. Then I'll leave you two alone." And, with a firm stride, and a gentle shut of the door, she left and Emma was alone with a broken and very emotional David Karofsky.

What was she going to do now? And how was she going to stomach the smell while she did it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

****Dave slouched in his chair, staring at some little statue on Miss Pillsbury's desk. It was easier than listening to her _not_talk to him. He had been sitting in that chair for ten minutes after Coach Beiste left and all Miss Pilsbury had done was take out a measuring tape and arrange everything on her desk. It was... creepy. And now, she was staring at him again. It really pissed him off. ****

He leaned forward and moved the stapler with his finger, screwing his face in disgust as he caught a whiff of his armpits. Three hours of heavy exercise in two layers of cotton clothing and no shower made for a healthy 'musk'. Miss Pilsbury must have thought so too, because she gagged as she reached over and pushed the stapler back in its place. That only pissed Dave off more. He nudged the stapler again, and she nudged it back without comment. Why wasn't she getting mad? Dave felt himself getting angry. Furious, actually. He knew this kind of stuff normally freaked her out, but she wasn't batting an eyelash. He leaned over and shoved the stupid stapler hard, but she picked it up and placed it right back where it belonged. ****

**"**Let's talk, shall we, okay?" She clasped her hands on the desk in front of her and leaned in a bit. He made an exaggerated effort to uncross his arms and leaned back, settling his shoulders a bit wider, and releasing his musk into the air. He smirked as she gagged.****

**"**About what?"****

**"**Well, first I want to say that I won't tell anyone anything that happens here." She nodded and stared him in the eyes. "Unless you seriously talk about hurting yourself, or someone else, or about committing a crime, I won't say anything to anyone. Not even your parents, OK? So, you're perfectly safe here." Dave snorted. He tried to look away, but couldn't. He couldn't even move. "You can say anything here, and I won't judge, or tell, or do anything but listen."****

**"**I can say anything?"****

**"**Anything."****

**"**I can say that I bet on dogfights and then rape the winner, and you won't do a thing?" ****

**"**N-n-no, nothing." That was satisfying, to see her cool finally break. "But, David, I think we should stick to things that are true, don't you?" ****

He shrugged, unsure of what was worse: not saying anything and spending three hours staring her in the eyes (the woman _never _blinked), or spilling the beans and telling her everything. It'd be good to get that shit off his chest, to make it someone else's problem.****

Maybe it was knowing that she _couldn't_tell anyone and that nothing would change if he came clean. Not that he could come clean; he'd kissed Hummel and dreamed _about other stuff. _He'd even thought about having a boyfriend this morning. He was a queer. You couldn't be _clean_after catching fag. He leaned over in his seat and forced himself to pull his eyes from Miss Pilsbury's gaze. _When did everything become such a mess?_Dave gripped his hair in his hands and pulled. Hard. He deserved the pain. Everyone said pain was weakness leaving the body. And, Dave was very, very weak. _If I pull too hard, I'll rip my hair out. Then I really will be bald by thirty._He couldn't get Hummel's words out of his head. It was like that fag were whispering them in his ears right now, telling him how 'extraordinarily ordinary' he was and that he was too chubby and sweaty and stupid. How he wasn't Kurt's type.****

He hated fags. Everything he'd been taught by... everyone... told him that fags were dangerous. Everyone knew the queers were just waiting to jump straight boys and turn them gay. Hell, everyone knew that you catch fag just by watching the wrong shows, or reading the wrong stuff. That had to be what went wrong. He hadn't beat Hummel enough. Or, maybe just walking down the same halls as him made him catch it, like when everyone caught the flu because Brian Gustafson came to school with a fever. Why was he the one who was in trouble? ****

He hated that he hated gays. He hated that he used words like 'queer' and 'fag'. He hated that he _wanted_to hate Kurt, but couldn't. He hated himself. Dave knew he was a basket case, he wasn't stupid. But, he didn't know how to fix it. All he saw was a big long dark tunnel with no light at the end, or even an end. He was doomed to live this life: hating, raging, fighting, tormenting. He would never be happy, and would end up making everyone around him just as unhappy as he was. ****

That kiss! All he wanted to do was make Hummel shut up! But, the guy kept going on about how awful he was and how he'd never be anything, saying everything he already knew. And he just snapped. He was staring at those lips, those perfect red, delicate lips. He had just wanted to shut him up. That was all. If he hadn't kissed Hummel, then he could have pretended that everything was normal, that liking boys was just a phase he was going through, that everyone went through. He could pretend it was like watching the Power Rangers, ya everyone did it at least once in their lives, but no one really talked about it, and most people had the good sense to be ashamed by it. ****

He jumped at a slight cough from Miss Pilsbury. "We need to talk about your detention, David."****

**"**Dave." She blinked at him. Why did everyone want to call him David? He _hated_that name. "Everyone calls me Dave. Or Karofsky." ****

**"**Oh. OK. Dave." He smirked as she took a steadying breath. He could intimidate a teacher, which was kinda cool. "Now, we organized your days, and lunch, but... I want to discuss with you what we're going to talk about today."****

**"**What's to talk about?" Dave shrugged and slouched in his chair with a smirk plastered on his face. If he played his cards right, maybe she would get pissed off enough to kick him out and he could just spend the rest of his time in regular detention. She wrinkled her nose at the odor coming from his armpits. Man, he reeked. It was all he could to not puke right now himself. But, sitting in that chair kept him out from the halls. So, if that meant putting up with his man-stench, then he could do it. He'd make sure to be nice and clean tomorrow though since he'd have to sit for three hours a day in this room, doing nothing, maybe getting his homework done. That was three hours away from acting tough for the other jocks. ****

**"**Well, um, we could talk about your school work."****

Dave scoffed, and slouched further into his chair. "Ya, no fucking way." And, dude, what was with her eyes? They just _stared _at him. ****

**"**OK, well, um, how about these unresolved issues you have about Kurt Hummel?" ****

He scoffed again. He'd rather talk about school than talk about fucking Kurt Hummel. _That _was an uncomfortable thought. He started to squirm a bit in his chair, and not entirely from the image of Kurt in that yellow shit he wore the other day (_no _guy should look _that_good in a yellow sweater!) They were like dolls' eyes! They just stared at him without blinking. Who the fuck had dolls' eyes that didn't blink? They wanted something, and he couldn't figure out what. They were fucking creepy as Hell and they were pissing him off. "Or, OK, how about your anger issues? Yeah? We could talk about that." ****

**"**What anger?" Dave's fist smacked into the wall. What the Hell did she want? Those eyes just stared at him. Pilsbury had jumped when his fist hit the wall (and didn't _that_hurt, not that he'd let her know), but her eyes never left him. What the Hell? Didn't the chick ever blink? He smacked the wall again for effect. This time, she didn't even budge. He knew she was freaky, like she hated messes and loud noises or some shit. But, damn, this was a whole different kind of weird, like she wasn't afraid of him. _Everyone _was afraid of him. Even that bitch Ms Peale was afraid of him. Why the fuck couldn't he get under her skin? Everyone eventually got mad at him and tried to throw him out. He was the big mean kid, and no one wanted to be around him. Pilsbury, though, didn't do anything. She just waited, like she expected him to do something else. Even the other teachers would start yelling at him or give him detention or _something_****

**"**Well, we could talk about how you just attacked a wall for no reason. Let's start with that, shall we?" Dave sighed and straightened up in his chair as she pulled two bottles of water from the cabinet behind her. She smiled and turned to look at the papers on her desk and scribbled a few notes to herself.****

**"**So? I'm a big guy. I'm a big strong, mean, guy. That's what big guys do. They're always angry and they pick on the weaker kids. It's like nature." He sneered at the ground. Why couldn't she figure this out? She _had_to know this shit. Unless this was one of those times when he was doing what he was _supposed _to but he wasn't supposed to. This sounded like it was one of those stupid contradictions that adults liked. ****

**"**You're always angry." Ms. Pilsbury said it like she'd just figured it out. How could she have just figured this out? Was he _that_invisible? That just made him _more_angry.****

**"**Ya, _always_." He glared at her and sneered. She leaned away from him, like she was afraid, and he grinned at finally having gotten under her skin. Then, guilt set in because he realized he was proud that he'd scared a chick and that only made him even angrier. "I wake up, and I'm pissed." _Why _was he telling her this? "I get to school, and I'm pissed." It felt good, though, to just vent, and let the rage out without actually hurting anyone. "I'm pissed at practice. I'm pissed when I get home. I'm _always _angry!" He slammed his fist into the chair and was rewarded with a loud snap as the arm cracked in the center. "I could be with some chick and having the most mind-blowing sex possible and I'll still be pissed." Ironically, 'some chick' was not who he pictured having mind-blowing sex with right then. He growled in fury and slammed his fist into the wall. "I'm _always_angry. Always." He held his head in his hands and choked out a sob. Dimly, he registered Ms. Pilsbury stepping around the room and shutting blinds to afford them some privacy . He choked out another sob. He was so fucking _weak_! Crying like a fucking pansy! A fucking weak limp-wrist faggot! He pounded a fist into his head, his teams' voices filling his ears, screaming at him about being weak. It felt good, right, even. So he pounded his head again, and again, and again, and again, heedless of the tears that fell from his eyes until two small hands wrapped around his.**  
><strong>  
>"Stop, Dave. Stop." Miss Pilsbury was kneeling and somehow managing to crouch low and still stay off the carpet, but her hands were still on his. <strong><strong>

He blinked away the tears and sniffled like a girl. "M'sorry. I... I didn't mean to be such a fucking girl like that." He pulled his arm to hit himself again, but Miss Pilsbury had some kind of super strength and kept his fist from really doing any damage. What kind of a pansy was he that a fucking _girl_was stronger than him?****

**"**It's not weakness to say what you feel." He snorted at that. Feelings were for girls. Guys didn't _have_feelings, none that people could see anyway. "It's not, Dave. No matter what you think, or you've been told, you feel what you feel and you express them when you want." She shrugged and stood up from him sitting back in her chair across the desk from him. "So, to answer your question, what's wrong with me is that I was bullied as a child." Ms. Pilsbury blinked a few times and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Dave wasn't happy to see that. He hated to see chicks cry. "High school scars us, Dave. _Life_scars us. And some run deeper than others. The torments we inflict on other people are just as bad as the ones we inflict on ourselves." She gave him a knowing look. "And, sometimes, what we do to others is worse than what we do to ourselves because we're jealous of their popularity, or money, or friends." He scoffed. "Or we're afraid of them." Dave squirmed in his chair, but kept his face neutral. "And, sometimes, we don't like ourselves so much that we take it out on others." He could feel the blood draining from his face. "So, Dave, what are you afraid of?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

****Kurt Hummel was not afraid. He was a rock. He was ice. He was steel. He was a unwavering and solid rock of icy steel. He certainly was not at all in any way afraid of nor concerned by the testosterone-fueled argument between Karofsky and Azimio a few scant feet down the hall. He hated feeling this way about his reformed bully and one-time bodyguard. He hated not knowing if the boy would explode into a whirlwind of hate-filled fury, or collapse into a puddle of self-loathing. Kurt hated making yet another Disney reference, especially because it nearly always cast him as a princess, but Karofsky's Beast-like mood swings were as unpredictable as they were intimidating. If the jock could just stay at one emotional peak, Kurt could cope and manage, he knew that. He could achieve some kind balance in his mind of what their relationship would be if Karofsky could just figure out the kind of person he wanted to be: Hateful Beast or Self-Loathing Basket Case. Kurt could work with either of those and _help_the jock. ****

**"**What the fuck, D?" The sound of a large athletic body slamming into the side of a locker roused Kurt form his thoughts. He turned to see Azimio taking a step back from where he'd shoved the other jock into a locker. He knew he should turn away and walk back where he'd come from, but there was a group of puck-heads blocking that end of the hall, and, with Dave distracted by Azimio, Kurt wouldn't put it past the louts to try something. "You goin' soft on me?" Azimio thumped the Neanderthal on the shoulder. Kurt winced at the blow, that had to have hurt. "You didn't do _shit_to that wheelchair kid I told you about. I had him all gift wrapped for you, too." They walked closer and Kurt tried to look busy.****

**"**Lay off me, Az. I'm not in the mood." Kurt pressed himself deeper into the locker as Karofsky thundered by. He looked angry, which wasn't all that unusual, since Kurt was positive the Neanderthal, like most jocks, had three modes: angry, horny, sleep. Although, to be fair he had actually started to act like a decent human being over the past few months. But would it last? Karofsky turned to Kurt briefly and the smaller boy gasped in shock. The jock had circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in over a week. ****

**"**Ya, you haven't been in the mood for weeks, now. What gives?" They stopped just passed Kurt's locker. He needed to leave, but they were standing in the center of the hallway, leaving Kurt with the unpleasant choice of standing still, trying to skirt around them to the other side of the hall, or squeezing pass them on his side. "You keep quiet after you get back from being expelled. I get that, you needed to lay low until the heat died down. But, then, Santana gets you in that gay-ass club of hers." Karofsky's face darkened as Azimio carried on. This could not be good. "And, you start tearing into people for doing the shit you used to pull. And, I figger that's cool, because it's _Santana_, and you don't never do somethin' to piss off a piece o' ass that fine. But, shit, Prom's over, Bro. You need to get your mojo on or you're going to be nothin' next year. Santana or no Santana."****

**"**Santana said..."****

**"**Dude, man. Santana ain't the boss of you. She's fine, but she ain't _that_fine!" Azimio laughed and smacked Karofsky on the shoulder. ****

**"**Are you fucking kidding me?" Kurt wondered if Dave was faking the incredulity in his voice. Probably not. Even he could tell that Santana was the hottest girl in school. Sure, she was pure unmitigated evil, but she was still undeniably attractive. Any warm-blooded straight male would give their left testicle just to get her to talk to him. ****

**"**Ok, maybe she is that fine, but man you what about your self respect?" Azimio snorted and shook his head. "I don't care how good the sex is, man, she can't be that good."****

Dave's fists balled and he glared deep into Azimio's eyes. Kurt gulped and reflexively took a step back. He'd seen that look before. It was the look David gave before he hurt someone. A lot. It was intense and focused and just a bit thrilling. Now there was a terrifying thought. "That's my girlfriend you're talking about, Z." Kurt had to hand it to Dave; if he didn't know otherwise, he would be convinced that Dave really was defending his girlfriend's honor. He was a superb actor. Of course, Kurt should have expected nothing less from a boy who was able to fool the entire world, including the homosexual population of McKinley High School, that he was straight.

"Whatever, man, no need to get all pissy about it. Respect, man, respect!" Azimio raised his hands in a mollifying gesture, and Dave seemed to cool off. He still kept hands in fists, though. And his eyes still burned in barely controlled anger. "But, it's good to see you still got your balls." That earned another growl from the hockey player. They glared at each other, and something seemed to pass between them: an unspoken challenge that Kurt did _not_want to be a part of. Neither did Azimio, apparently, because he shrugged and held up his hands again. "A'ight, dude, I'm sorry. I won't ride ya no more about Santana, but still, you gotta do _something_to get your mojo back. Especially after..."  
><strong><br>****"**After what?" Dave's eyes widened in fear, and Kurt's heart leaped into his throat. Of all the thigns Azimio could mention, he had to pick the most painful moment in Karofsky's life. ****

**"**Dude, you lost a lot of street cred with that Bully Whips thing."**  
><strong>  
>"Dude! I was totally bad-ass! No one fucked with me!" Dave's stance changed to a confident postering jock. "I'm a fucking state champion in two sports this year! I'm Captain of the hockey team <em>and<em>I'm one of the star players on the football team. I am a fucking God." ****

**"**Ya, but dude, people are talking. That beret? That jacket? They were fucking _gay._**" **Again, David's eyes darkened. "I know you said Santana made you, and maybe she did, but dude, you gotta work that off. You wore _pink_, man, fucking _pink_!" ****

**"**Santana said I looked hot." ****

The sound of a nerd slamming into a locker filled the hall, and both jocks turned to look. And Kurt found himself locking eyes with Azimio. "What the fuck we got here?" Shit. Kurt felt Azimio's hand clamp on his jacket and pin him into the lockers. "Look what I got here? A fairy in a nice.. is that _pink_? Are you fucking wearing pink, Hummel? I dunno what's worse, that fucking Gaga shit you were in, or wearing a fucking pink sweater." ****

**"**It's currant." He held his head high and stared Azimio in the eyes. He would _not_be intimidated ever again!****

**"**Whatever, fag, it's fucking pink, and it's fucking gay." Azimio thrust his arm into Kurt's chest, weighing it down hard while Karofsky stood by his side, his expression unreadable. He saw stars momentarily as his head connected with the lockers. "C'mon, Karofsky, you should get a piece of this. You need some fucking payback for what this fag did to you."****

**"**Dude, Az, let's just go." Kurt couldn't believe his ears. Karofsky had stood up to bullies when he was in Bully Whips, but now that the club was over, was he _really_standing up to Azimio? ****

**"**What?" Apparently, Azimio couldn't believe his ears either. ****

**"**Pilsbury said I can get a scholarship, or something." ****

**"**What's that got to do with pounding Lady Face?"****

**"**She won't help me out if I get in trouble and Beiste'll kick me off the teams next year if I get another write-up. She already benched me starting out. And, she said she's gonna let me help with training camp this year. If I screw up, that's all out." Wait, what? Coach Beiste was helping Karofsky out? It made sense, in a way, he _was_one of her jocks, and Karofsky was actually kind of a decent athlete. So, she'd want to help him out as much as possible. But, somehow, it upset Kurt's sense of balance that the _bully_was getting a hand out when Kurt had to scrabble for every ounce of recognition. On the other hand, Kurt, reminded himself that Karofsky was a _reformed_bully.****

**"**Pilsbury said that the scouts won't even _look_at me if I get another suspension, and my grades are so shitty, I can't get an academic scholarship." That sounded weak, even to Kurt's ears, especially now that he knew the kind of brain Karofsky was packing underneath his helmet. Wait, _Miss. Pilsbury_was helping Karofsky, too? Seriously?****

**"**No one's gotta know, dude. We'll take him out back and rough him up. It'll be fun." Azimio grinned and put even more weight on his arm. Kurt almost gagged on the stench coming from the oaf's arms. Azimio's idea of deodorant was a liberal coating of Axe. Most of the jocks seemed to think that being smelled across a room was a good thing. Oddly, Karofsky never did. Kurt rarely caught a whiff of anything from the jock until he was right next to him. Not that Kurt smelled Karofsky or anything. That would be creepy.****

**"**He'll tell." Kurt tried to shake his head. He wouldn't tell! He valued his life too much. Wait, what happened to not being intimidated? He steeled his back and stared the two jocks in the eyes. If they were going to pound him, he was going to make them have to look him in the eyes. He was tired of being afraid. ****

**"**Not if he knows what's good for him." Azimio glowered, raising his fist higher, and Kurt sneered as a scathing retort formed on his lips. He would cut the Brobdingnagian louts with his wicked, wicked words. Santana might have razor blades in her hair, but he had a razor tongue. To think he had actually started to feel _sorry_for the Neanderthal, and he was just standing on the sides while his friend pounded him into dust! ****

**"**A teacher would notice when he didn't show up to class." Karofsky growled and thumped Azimio's shoulder. "Pilsbury says I can't fuck with anyone. So, I'm not fucking with anyone."****

**"**You're fucking kidding me, Karofsky." Azimio snarled and pounded his fist onto the jock's shoulder. "You're fagging out on me?" Karofsky's lip curled and he pushed his friend into the lockers barely missing Kurt. ****

**"**I said I can't fucking do anything. So back the fuck off. I'm outta here." He turned and stalked off down the hall. "You wanna get all close and personal with him, go for it. I'll make sure to send a card for the wedding." ****

Azimio growled at Kurt and then followed after his friend with a snarl. Kurt slumped against the lockers in misery. Nothing had changed. Worse, Karofsky was backsliding. At least in the Bully Whips, the jock had stood up to people and fought against bullying. Now, he was becoming a bystander. Somehow, that was worse in Kurt's eyes. ****

**"**Need a hand?" Finn smiled and lightly hauled Kurt to his feet next to a fuming Rachel. He had to hand it to his new brother. He might be thick, but when Finn decided, he really could be a sweet guy. "What was that about?"****

**"**You saw?" Then again, he could be a real selfish prick when he wasn't thinking.****

**"**I was gonna step in, but then things were getting weird." Rachel stomped her foot in irritation and looked at her boyfriend like he was crazy. He couldn't understand why she was so angry. She didn't jump in to help him out, either. ****

**"**Weird?" Kurt shrugged and looked around him. ****

**"**Well... y'know, Azimio and Karofsky yelling at each other." He shrugged and Kurt could see the wheels spinning. "I mean those two were always... Y'know. Like bros or something." Bros. Like they were. "Just never thought Az would turn on Karofsky." Finn shrugged again. "Besides, it looked like they were ignoring you for the most part." ****

**"**Finn's right, Kurt, it _is_weird that Karofsky stopped Azimio since he's not in the Bully Whips anymore." Kurt almost wished the lout hadn't rescued him, Rachel's ensemble was _hideous_. Really, it was like something a five year old would think an adult would wear. She was wearing her trademark carousel horse sweater (how did she manage to find a teal and cerise sweater?) and an olive and magenta plaid skirt with yellow and white socks. And, for some reason she had decided to tie her hair back with a sky blue scarf that somehow bobbed every time she talked. Her parents were gay, right? Didn't that mean they had some kind of fashion sense? How could they have allowed their daughter to walk out in that monstrosity? And, Shelby Corcoran had wonderful taste for an adult. So, that had to have clinched it. She had to have had three different sets of fashion genes all working in her. The girl should have been a fashion icon! ****

**"**Is that stuff he said about scholarships and scouts true, Finn?" Kurt sighed, and straightened his _currant_cardigan. Pink was so last season!****

Finn shrugged. "It could be. If Miss Pilsbury says so, it probably is. When Rachel left Glee Club, and I was trying to figger out a way I could go to college and support Quinn and the baby, Miss Pilsbury told me about musical scholarships since my grades aren't all that good."****

**"**Isn't that when you seduced her into thinking that you two could date so that she would come back to the club." **  
><strong>  
>Finn, winced at the furious glare Rachel sent towards him. If looks could kill, he'd be stabbed a hundred times over. "Well, ya, but, the scholarships were real. I filled out the papers and stuff." <strong><br>**  
>"Great, so he terrorizes Kurt and ends up getting financial aid. What gives?" Kurt chuckled as Finn sighed with relief when Rachel forgot about being angry at him and stormed off towards Miss Pillsbury's office. Finn shrugged again as if to say "What can you do? She's crazy and I love her" and then raced after Rachel. He was right, what could he do? What could anyone do? Life was so unfair<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

****Life was so unfair. ****

Dave slumped in his usual chair in Miss Pilsbury's office, listening to her drone on and on about scholarships and grades and how proud she was that he was turning himself around. Ya, like he had a choice. It wasn't that much of a miracle that his grades picked up when he was in enforced study hall for 1 hour a day and his coach demanded to see all of his completed homework before she'd let him practice, or he'd be kicked off the team next year. So, no, it wasn't something to be proud of. Ya, he was actually _trying_to do well in school, again, but it wasn't the same thing. Didn't she see that? ****

Although, if it weren't for Coach Beiste and Miss Pilsbury, Dave would be repeating the eleventh grade. How can he think about derivatives or conjugate bases or how a bill becomes a law when his girlfriend might be dumping him? Or, that he was losing his best friend because he stopped bullying other kids and his friend thought that was gay? Or that the only out gay kid at school kept wearing the most fucking sexy sweaters and walking around like he owned the world? He looked it up, currant was a really sexy shade of red. Dave wasn't really sure what the difference between all those different shades were, most of them looked like just brighter or dark versions of red, like someone was shining lights or something on some and not others, but of all the different reds under different amounts of light (and colored lights), currant was, by far, the sexiest, hottest, and all-out awesomest shade there was! ****

And, didn't that just piss him the Hell off? It wasn't enough that he had to be nice to the gay kid and walk him around so that his beard wouldn't rat him out and tell the whole fucking world that he was gay. No. He needed to have a crush on the flamiest gay kid there was. Where was the justice in that? Why did he have to be gay, anyways? He liked sports. He liked video games. He liked being in the Scouts. He liked hanging out with the guys and just chilling with a couple of beers Puck snuck out of the 7/11 with that really dumb Arab-guy. Jalal? Jamal? Joachim? What was his name? They all sounded the same anyways, so it really didn't matter. The point was, he liked doing guy stuff. Straight guy stuff. He liked Modern Warfare, and monster trucks, and camping out in the woods. He drove big-ass beat-up pickup truck and listened to country and hard rock, for God's sake! Gays didn't do that stuff; they drove hybrids or smart cars, or something 'cute and sporty' from Europe and listened to Lady Gaga or something from Pop 40 stations. Dave didn't do any of that. He looked and acted straight. So, why couldn't he _be_straight? He loved God and prayed every night for forgiveness, because he knew that being gay was a sin. And, everyone knew that fags were a bunch of atheist liberal freaks who ran around having sex with random people, tried to make people gay, wanted to destroy the country (even though he wasn't sure what liking butt sex had to do with hating America), and were all flaming and girly and shit. Pastor Rick said so. He said that being gay was a choice, like murdering someone or getting an abortion, or taking drugs. Being gay was an addiction to wrongful sex. It was lust. And, people could choose whether or not to be lustful towards guys. If they prayed hard enough and tried hard enough, they could beat the addiction to wanting wrongful sex. And. even if they were attracted to another guy; they didn't have to _act _on those thoughts. They could pray and ask Jesus to help them stay on a Godly path. God never seemed to answer him, though. ****

So, was it any wonder that with all that shit bouncing around in his head, he didn't give a rip about school? But, here he was, sitting in a room with one of the most terrifying women he knew, listening to her congratulate him on getting on the right path. He was fucking gay, dammit, what kind of 'right path' could he be on?****

**"**What was that?" ****

Oh shit. What did she hear? What did he say out loud? Dammit! He looked up in to Miss Pilsbury's expectant eyes. "Huh?"****

**"**You said something just now. It sounded like "I'm fruit-tay." Or something like that. What does fruit-tay mean? Are you saying you're fruity? Because I don't understand that slang." Miss Pilsbury opened her desk and pulled out a few pamphlets. The top one was titled: "Yo, dawg, what's the haps my homey: Or, Greetings, friend, how are you today?"_ Understanding today's vernacular._****

**"**Seriously? You have a pamphlet for slang?" Dave rolled his eyes. Wow, and he thought _he _was messed up. ****

**"**Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do." She slid them across the desk so that they fanned out in front of Dave like a set of OCD playing cards. "I find them quite helpful when I'm speaking with students." ****

Dave reached over and picked one up at random. "Ya, I suppose "H-zero-w 2 und-3-r-5-7-weird looking 'and' symbol … " Seriously? How was anyone supposed to read: "_h0w 2 UNd3R57& Wh K1Dz R WR171n'. A 9U1d3 4 PaR3N75 & 73ACH3r2 0f ALl A932.'_. Nerds, probably. "Dude, I can't even read this."****

**"**Really? But, it was written for you." She started leafing through it. "And, I'm not seeing fruity in it at all. I certainly can't find fruit-tay, either. Are you sure you said it right? Perhaps you didn't emphasize the right syllable."

"I didn't say I'm fruity, or fruit-tay whatever that means." He desperately searched for something that sounded like what she might have heard. "I said "I'm fucking gray." 'Cause, y'know gray, like bored. Only, I said it under my breath." Dave groaned at his lam excuse. How could anyone come up with something that shitty?****

**"**No... I'm pretty sure I heard fruity."She leafed through her pamphlets for a few moments, long enough for Dave to think he actually kept his secret safe. "I know!" ****

**"**Fuck." Dave groaned, she wouldn't let up. Why couldn't she just ignore it. ****

**"**I have another pamphlet! Yes! That's it!" She bent and started flipping through another pamphlet. This one was simply titled **'**_Huh?'_. She frowned as she read the tiny three-folded sheet of gray paper. "Oh! Here it is, but no, this can't be right."  
><strong><br>****"**I told you, I didn't say fruity!" That's right. It can't apply to him. She didn't hear him and everything would be right and he could pretend that this day never happened. ****

**"**Right, of course not. You can't have said it, because if you had, according to this pamphlet, fruity means 'gay'. And, that would mean you would have said that you're gay and..." She looked up and stared at him in confusion for a moment.**  
><strong>_  
><em>The color drained from Dave's face in an instant. Currant, fuchsia, mauve, pink, red, salmon, tan, the names of colors he'd heard over the past few months from Kurt ran through his mind in a heartbeat and wiped away from his skin which became even more pale as Miss Pilsbury put two and two together and came up with four. Somehow, someway, through some bizarre combination of detective work, interrogation, and just plain dumb luck, Miss Pilsbury had figured out his deepest, darkest secret, making her one of three people in the entire world who knew his greatest sin. A small whimper escaped his throat, and his fists balled at his sides. He could kill her. He could take those pamphlets at her desk and beat her with them until she bled to death from all the paper cuts. It would be the perfect murder! No one would ever know! Except the blinds were open, everyone would see, and everyone knew that he had a regular appointment to be in her office at 3:05 pm sharp every day and that he needed to be with Coach Beiste by 4:00 pm. He wasn't sure what the correct term was for that kind of thing, but he was pretty sure the words "Fry your ass on the chair" followed it. Maybe he could play it off. Maybe... No it'd been too long since she said anything. It'd be even more suspicious if he talked. "What?" His eyes started to water. Shit! Not now! It's bad enough that someone else knew! Now he had to act all queer and start crying! Shit!****

He heard rather than saw the blinds close around him, sealing him and Miss Pilsbury in a protective cocoon of plastic slats. "Oh. Oh my! I... I see." ****

Why was she being so nice and quiet? Didn't she understand how sick he was? He was a fucking queer! She could catch fag from him! She could...****

**"**That explains some things, I think."  
><strong><br>****"**I..." His mouth worked uncontrollably for a moment, barely forcing out the words. "Oh, God!" His vision blurred and for the second time in Miss Pilsbury's office, Dave Karofsky cried. What was he doing? He was _crying_! Dave Karofsky didn't cry! Real men don't cry! Everyone knew that! Ya, Miss Pilsbury said that he could cry and she wouldn't judge him. But, the rest of the world? They would judge. Crying fit into those three rules of life: it was Weird. Only kids, chicks, and fags cried! And kids were supposed to stop crying quick or they were soft and gay. She had to know that. She had to know that he was a weak limp-wristed sinning faggot who kissed boys and cried. He tried to pound his weak faggot head with his fists to make himself stop crying. He needed to stop, to man up. Pain was weakness leaving the body, and he was very very weak. He tried, but like last time, Miss Pilsbury's super-strength held his hands down to chair. He struggled against her arms, sobbing into his letterman jacket. She had to know that this wasn't manly. It wasn't being strong. Didn't she understand that it... It felt good to cry. ****

Realization dawned on him like the entire Thurston High defensive line. Somehow, letting everything he'd kept bottled up for so long explode out in flood of uncontrolled, unmanly, weeping felt _good_. Like he was relieving all the pressure built up in a bag of microwave popcorn so that the bag didn't explode. Wow. That was some kind of deep shit, right there. Where the fuck did that come from?****

Dave sniffled pathetically and wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. When he pulled his arm away, a box of Kleenex had magically appeared on his lap and Miss Pilsbury was on her side of the desk, organizing her pamphlets. She didn't seem at all bothered by the ginormous teen bawling like a baby in her office. "Take all the time you need, Dave. But, I want you to know that I..."****

**"**What? You think I'm brave? Like this is some big confession that I've been working up to? Like it's one of those 'break throughs' shrinks talk about?" Wasn't it? He had, finally, admitted to himself that he was gay and wanted a boyfriend. Acceptance was the first step to recovery, after all. But, what did he want out of this? Did he want help? Did he want it to go away? Was he secretly happy that Miss Pilsbury knew? Was he ashamed? Or, was he just afraid that she'd reject him like everyone else would. ****

**"**No. I was going to remind you that everything that you say and do in this room is completely confidential. Unless you seriously talk about hurting yourself or others, it all stays just between us." She gave him a small smile. She probably meant it to be comforting, really it just creeped him out. Why was she so understanding? He just admitted to her he was a fucking queer! She should be trying to cure him, or throw him out of the office, or yell at him for being the gay kid that picked on other gay kids. "I think, if you want, we can talk. Or, you can go to Coach Beiste, because it's almost 4, and you should have some time to get ready for that." She spread her hands in the air. "It's completely up to you." She smiled that not-really-comforting smile that still somehow made him at ease and feel like he could trust her and watched him with her huge unblinking eyes.****

Dave looked at her and gulped. What did he want? She was giving him an out, a way to save face and pretend his meltdown never happened. He could go to the gym, change, and pound out all the weakness in him by pumping iron. Or, he could stay and deal. Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could help him figure out what was going on in his twisted head. Beating people wasn't working. Stalking Kurt didn't work. Avoiding everything hadn't worked. Maybe it was time to just man up and face his problems? ****

Dumbly, not trusting himself to speak because he might lose his nerve, Karofsky nodded his head once. His voice barely a whisper, he sniffed. "Can we talk?


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

****Emma hung up the phone, having finished coordinating with Coach Beiste when Dave would make up his time with her. The football coach had been adamant that Dave keep to the number of sessions he'd agreed to. Something about 'losing ground' and 'wasting potential' and 'slacking off', there had been some technical talk about muscle atrophy and memory (how could muscles remember?) and needing appropriate rest days and muscle group days. Truthfully, once she got approval from Shannon, she had tuned everything else out other than specific dates on make-up sessions. So far, he would be with Shannon for two hours on Saturday and Sunday to make up for the lost day today. Dave had groaned at hearing that tidbit, but hadn't put up too much of a fuss. Emma wasn't sure of what to make of that. It could be that the boy was just too drained from the stresses he was dealing with to really protest any great change to his life. It could be that he just didn't care about himself enough to demand equity or reprieve. Or, knowing how most athletes regarded their coaches, Dave could probably have just accepted that Coach Beiste knew what was best for him and just obeyed out of habit. She hoped that Dave agreed because of the third option and neither the first or second. The second choice could lead to poor decisions later on to be able to cope with stress or even just feel past the exhaustion. The second option could lead to real harm or depression. She would need to watch him later and see which of the three options it was. ****

She cautiously watched the dejected athlete from the corner of her eye as she put her pamphlets away. They were such wonderful things, her pamphlets! They were perfect tri-folded flaps of information, wisdom, guidance, and humor. Sure, they might not have all the answers, or any. But that wasn't their purpose. No one understood that, not even Will. The titles were catchy and funny; they always got some kind of interest from her students, even if it was just to make fun of them. But, she could learn so much about them from their comments and the jokes they made. Once they started talking about how lame her pamphlets were, it was easier for them to talk to her about other things. Soon, she would know the whole problem, and they would have some real solutions planned. And, they would read the pamphlet at home. Her pamphlets worked, darnit!****

And so, Emma had been confident when she brought out her pamphlets that Dave would start to work through whatever demons were haunting him. Now that the floodgates were open, and Dave wanted to talk, she needed to tread carefully. This was not the time for another pamphlet. Oh no. That would come later, at the end. She already knew the pamphlet she'd give him. Instead, she needed to listen and reply. Dialogue. Yes, that was the key. Communication from listening and engaging in discussion with another... ****

Oh crumbs! Dave was saying something!****

**"… **knows." ****

**"**Why?" There! Respond with a question and get him to give more information. Perfect! She would be able to use context clues to figure out what he had been saying. ****

Dave rolled his eyes at her, like she had just something profoundly stupid. She may have deserved that because she hadn't been paying attention to him. "Because they'd kill me." ****

**"**Why?" ****

Dave rolled his eyes again. OK, that one was uncalled for. "We were in the lockers. Together?"

"So?****

**"**We did all the normal stuff guys do in the lockers after practice. Y'know got naked in front of each other, showered, changed, smacked towels at people. That stuff." Dave shrugged and blushed, like he was embarrassed. Emma was rather proud of herself that her own cheeks only slightly pinked at the subject. She had certainly come a long way over the past three years! "The guys would totally think I was trying to look at their junk the whole time." ****

**"**But you weren't."****

**"**Of course not! I'm not a creeper like that!" ****

**"**Then, why would they think that? Because you're gay?" ****

Dave nodded. ****

**"**But, they were OK with Kurt on the team, and he's gay."

Dave nodded again. "He wasn't out until after he quit the team. But, people pretty much knew anyways. So they didn't give him too much crap. Besides, he could kick like a horse."

"I don't understand the difference." ****

Dave sighed leaned forward. "It's like, everyone knew he was gay, or thought he was. Whatever. They were prepared for it, y'know?" He shrugged and hung his head in his lower. "Like it was OK that he was a queer and in the locker room, because they knew to hide, or whatever, so he wouldn't see anything."

"They accepted him?"****

**"**Fuck no, they ragged on him like crazy. But, they didn't, y'know, do anything more than they used to. They didn't try to hurt him or anything. 'Cause they knew."  
><strong><br>****"**And, with you you, they wouldn't?" Dave shrugged and grew silent, withdrawing into himself. "Why?" Sometimes, it helped just to ask questions. Even if you know the answer, ask a question just to keep the conversation flowing. Sometimes, the answer wasn't important at all, or even the question. Just keep them talking. ****

**"**Did you think I was gay before I told you?" ****

**"**Well.. um.. n-n-no. But, I don't think that's..." Unfortunately, sometimes the conversation didn't go where you wanted it. ****

**"**Why?" ****

**"**I-I-I-I don't know I suppose it's because you've never done anything that's..."****

**"**Gay"****

**"**Yes? No! I mean..." Emma felt herself burn a deep deep red. How had she lost control of this conversation? She was the counselor, here, not David! She was the adult!****

**"**Exactly. I've always done straight things. So, they never thought of me as gay. They were more open around me, like they would be with any other dude in the locker room. They'd think I was taking advantage."  
><strong><br>****"**I see. So, you are afraid of retaliation when the jocks find out they were in a situation where you could have taken advantage of the locker room, even though you didn't and never would." Emma blinked for a minute as her head spun around in circles. The logic was like something out of _Alice in Wonderland_. "And the rest of the school would..." ****

**"**Sell the left nut just to get a chance to get back at me? Ya." Dave snorted and leaned back in his chair. "Miss Pilsbury, I've been the biggest douche in the whole school to pretty much everyone. They'd be all over me like flies on shit. I wouldn't last a month. They'd kick me off the team, they'd drive me out of school. I gave kids slushie facials and locker slams and dumpster dives and porta-potty rolls." Emma was very proud of herself that she didn't sick up after that confession. Dumpsters and porta-potties were so _messy!_** "**I _deserve_to have the shit kicked out of me by everyone here. And, I'm too chicken-shit to take it. I can't take the shit I gave everyone else. What kind of douche is that?"****

**"**A sensible one." Dave's look of total shock was most satisfying. "No one wants to be constantly victimized and hated. No one wants to be alone." She paused and fixed Dave with a piercing gaze. "Is that what you're afraid of, Dave? Being alone?" ****

Dave nodded glumly, staring at the floor. ****

**"**Perhaps, then, some allies would help?"

"I'm not coming out. No fucking way!"****

**"**I didn't say that you had to. But, it might help you to have a few more people at this school willing to support you?" Emma nodded to herself, coming to a decision. This felt good. This felt right. "How are you with tools?


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

****This felt wrong. Very, very wrong. Karofsky stood at one end of the choir room. His hands were clenched into fists, and he sported the makings of a pretty sizable bruise over his right eye. Finn stood a few paces away from him with a split lip with Mike and Sam hauling on his arms to drag him further back. The others formed a ring around the whole group as if they were trying to stare the Neanderthal down. Rachel, however, stood on her tiptoes shaking her finger in his face.****

**"**Who gave you the right to be here, you pythonic twit? You don't belong here! You think after everything you've done to us, to _Kurt_, you can just waltz in here and mess with him? Seriously?" The sound of a powerful slap filled the room. His head didn't move. "You don't get to be here, Karofsky. This is the one place in school where we're supposed to be safe to be the people we _want_to be. Get out!"****

**"**Dude, get your freak girlfriend outta my face, Hudson." Finn lunged towards the other jock again, and dragged Sam and Mike a few steps before stopping. "I don't hit chicks, 'cause I got my principles, but I'm getting real annoyed here."****

**"**Then get the fuck out of here!" Puck yelled, only to be pushed further back by Santana. "We don't want you here!" Karofsky snarled and launched himself towards Puck, nudging Rachel out of the way.****

**"**Oh... oh my! Please... stop this!" And, miraculously, Karofsky stopped in mid-stride. Kurt stifled a giggle as the lout stumbled to regain his footing. Miss Pilsbury entered the room with her usual quiet stride and grace. "Now, can someone explain what's going on?"****

**"**Ya, why is Karofsky here?" Kurt wasn't necessarily angry at this turn of events. He'd long since gotten over being afraid of the jock. Besides, being with the Glee club could actually help the closeted teen. Maybe, it'd help him out of his shell. It certainly would be a step towards teaching him acceptance of others. Still, he had a role to play, and getting a few digs at the jock was kind of fun. "Shouldn't he be in the library or something, and, I, don't know, learn his ABCs" At the hurt that flashed briefly in Karofsky's eyes, Kurt didn't really think that getting those digs was all that fun anymore. ****

**"**Those are hard, I keep mixing up J with the number Two." Trust Brittany to say the most bizarre things at the most inopportune times. ****

Santana sighed and walked over to Karofsky, entwining her arms around the ogre's side. Oddly, Karofsky seemed to visibly relax at her touch. "I asked Dave to come here because... well... he's my boyfriend, and I want him to join Glee club." She planted a small kiss on the thug's cheek and then stepped away from him to the center of the floor. "Look, it's no secret what he's done. Just as it's no secret that he's been trying to make up for it. I thought that joining Glee might, help him with that." Miss Pilsbury looked just as taken aback by this as everyone else. Did Miss Pilsbury suggest Dave join? What was Santana's game, then? Why take the credit for this?  
><strong><br>****"**Cut the crap, Santana. Prom's over." Mercedes and Santana glared daggers at each other. "What's your game?" ****

**"**Fine. Alright you caught me. Truth is,..."****

**"**I asked her." Dead silence. Even Santana stared at the jock in shock. The Latina Eve Harrington certainly hadn't planned that. Karofsky walked over and clasped hands with Santana. "You hate me, I get it. I was a douche. I _am _a douche. But, she's my girlfriend... and she said you needed some help with building sets, or whatever. My dad's a contractor, I work weekends at his jobs, so I know how to do shi-..." He paused and looked over at Miss Pilsbury. What was that about? "Stuff. So, I can build sets and junk. And, you can trust me, because my girlfriend is going to be using them, so I won't be trying to, like, secretly kill you guys or whatever." ****

**"**Wait, sets? You _told_him?" Rachel looked aghast that Santana had divulged any secrets of the Club. Seriously, she treated Glee club like it was a Masonic Lodge or something, and everyone was out steal their trade secrets in some sort of show-choir espionage. Granted, there was precedent, but Kurt doubted very much that Dave belonged to an evil show choir rival. ****

**"**Sets? What's Crazy-Lady talking about now?" ****

Rachel wheeled around and glared at Mercedes. "I was talking with Mr. Schue..."  
><strong><br>****"**You mean you were yelling at him, and he was nodding along until he gave in." Quinn rolled her eyes and walked back to her seat. Lauren watched her with narrowed eyes. What was with that? Kurt knew there had been some bad blood between them over the whole Prom thing, but he thought it had been largely settled before elections even started. ****

**"**I was simply saying that while _I _will be honing my craft all summer-as, no doubt, Kurt and some of the other more _serious_members of our company will-the rest of you will be wasting your time..." Karofsky leaned down and whispered something into Santana's ear. Her throaty laughter interrupted Rachel's tirade perfectly, something _everyone_was happy for. The triumphant light that burned in Santana's eyes gave Kurt pause, though. How much of that scene had Santana orchestrated? Eve Harrington had _nothing _on Santana Lopez. "As...as I was saying, most of you will be wasting your time doing nothing over summer. And, the club seriously needs the money... We could put on a production of … something... here, in the auditorium, sell tickets and actually make some much needed money for our woefully underfunded program. The appearance of a plucky and eclectic cast of zany characters with a can-do attitude that we've managed to cultivate has worked for us so far, but we almost didn't make it to competition because we were broke and we lost..."****

**"**We lost because you and Finn couldn't keep your paws off each other." Really, _why_was Quinn being so harsh today? She couldn't still be sore over the whole breakup. Their love triangle was so last season anyways. ****

**"**Well yes, at Nationals.. there was that. But, we lost last year because we looked poor." Rachel stammered and looked at the floor as the room suddenly became awkwardly silent. Even Karofsky sensed the shift as he just stared at Rachel. ****

**"**She's got a point." Every eye turned to Sam. "I mean, I've only been with you guys this year, and I thought the costumes looked amazing. But, after I saw what we were up against at Sectionals, and even worse, _Nationals_, we need to bring our A-Game. Those teams went all out. You could tell their schools put money into them." Mercedes smiled and hugged Sam tightly. They were cute together. Hopefully, she'd feel comfortable enough to tell him about her relationship with Sam. Until then, Kurt was content to watch from afar as their relationship slowly unfolded like a Victorian romance.

Tina nodded along. "Ya, they were the Red Carpet, and we were Goodwill." She gasped and fiddled with the sleeves of her jacket. "Not that you didn't do a great job, Mercedes, but..."****

**"**Naw, I feel you, we need better material, and maybe we could hire a professional. I'm good, but I can't do 12 costumes on my own. Even with Kurt and everyone helping," Kurt huffed at that, he did more than just _help_Mercedes. But, she did have a point. "It's too much." ****

**"**Exactly my point, Mercedes. So I convinced Mr. Schue that doing a musical over summer would be perfect. We could hone our craft, and earn some much needed money for the program! It's win-win!"****

**"**Wait, I thought that ship sailed when we tried to do Rocky Horror." Sam had a point. And, while he thought he rocked as Riff Raff, he didn't relish getting all dressed up and learning lines to be booed and heckled out of the auditorium. The Night of Neglect debacle had driven the point well and truly home. ****

**"**Well, yes, Rocky Horror was a very ill-conceived idea. But, there are others, and Principal Figgins insists that every club or program does something to raise money to cover 'drastic money-saving budget cuts'." Miss Pilsbury sniffed in frustration. "The Cheerios and athletes have boosters that will sell concessions at their events, and generous donations from alumni. The gardening club will be selling bulbs and flowers this summer." Wait, there was a _gardening_club? How were _they_above the Glee club in the social food chain? "So, Mr. Schuester decided to put on another musical."

"Ya, and how long until Coach Sylvester destroys it like last time?" Kurt nodded as Mercedes through her hands up in frustration. Even if this had been Rachel's brainchild, somewhere there had to be an angle that Coach Sylvester could take over. Didn't Mr. Schue see that? This _had_to be a ploy from Coach Sylvester to make New Directions lose.

"Mr. Schuester worked out a list of musicals to produce: Babes in Toyland, Phantom of the Opera, Sweeney Todd, or some Disney productions. We have more leeway because it's the summer and school's out. So, while it's _at_a school, it's not really a school function, and doesn't necessarily have to follow school policy-within reason. We can't do something really out there like Hair or Spring Awakening. But we can push a few envelopes." Kurt smiled at the choices Miss Pilsbury listed. All three were wonderful musicals and pretty tame for school. Sweeney Todd might be a bit much with all the murder and the rape scene. But, it was still pretty tame compared to what went on in Rocky Horror (but then again, who didn't like a bit of gay sex, swinging, cannibalism, and incest!), or the Twilight series. And, you could never go wrong with Disney. "And, since it's during summer, it'll keep you guys in practice, like Rachel said, _and _it'll be fun. It'll be a nice break for you all. He also said that if it works well, and you can squeeze it in, you might do another one over winter after Sectionals."****

**"**I'm sorry, Miss Pilsbury, but, um, when is Mr. Schue coming? Because I've worked out several selections to showcase my talents and appropriateness for each of the leads in those plays."****

**"**Rachel... how? If we're auditioning now I veto Sweeney Todd." Everyone stared at Quinn in shock. "There's, like, only 3 female characters in the entire play. Rachel will inevitably get Mrs Lovett, because Schue _always _gives her the leads. And, Kurt'll probably get that retarded kid since he's the only guy in the club that can sing that high." Toby did have some pretty amazing songs. He could definitely live with that. Although, Kurt did think he'd rock either lead if he did say so himself. Maybe if they gender-swapped Sweeney and Mrs Lovett... " That only leaves two parts for seven girls, if everyone stays. That's ridiculous."****

**"**Well.. uh.. not everyone will get to shine, certainly, but isn't it enough to know that you're making _me_shine brighter? The production is all that..." ****

**"**Oh, _Hell to the no!_**" **Mercedes lunged at Rachel, again. ****

**"**Oh! Oh my, stop this! Please!" Mercedes, unlike Karofsky, didn't seem to care all that much what Miss Pilsbuay said.. It took Lauren, Puck, _and _Sam to haul her away from Rachel, who was using a very uncomfortable looking Finn as a human shield. "Mr. Schue will be dealing with all these decisions when he gets back Thursday. For now, I'm just here to listen to your assignments and give comments." ****

**"**Well, fine. But, I still don't think Karofsky should be here, though." Several heads nodded as Finn made his case. "He threatened to kill Kurt, and he's bullied every one of us. So..."****

**"**So we vote." Santana stepped back to the center of the room from where she left Karofsky sitting in a chair alone in the corner. "We've always accepted anyone who wanted in."  
><strong><br>****"**We can't just accept anyone who wants to join our group" Rachel strode towards the piano with her usual full-swing march, pulling everyone's eyes with her and off Santana. Rachel certainly knew how to make a scene. "We are a select group of elite performers. And, while some of us are more elite than others, we all understand the importance and pressures of performing in front of an audience. We need to make sure that every member of our group can do the same. I will not have someone ruining my chances of stardom because they crack under pressure. I have too much difficulty carrying the burden of stardom and leadership as it is, and-"****

**"**Only 'cause you hog all the solos!" Mercedes retorted, fire burning in her eyes.****

**"**Rachel's right." All eyes turned to Quinn. This could not be good; Quinn _never _agreed with Rachel unless she was planning something. Usually, it was the precise angle from which to strike. And, while Meatloaf had been talking about the chords of a power-ballad, Kurt was more inclined to think that Quinn's angle involved daggers and backs. "We've all had to audition. It's only fair that he goes through that same experience. He might crack under the pressure."****

**"**Please, he's a star athlete. I think he understands pressure," Santana snorted. It wasn't a pleasant sound. Then again, Santana wasn't really a pleasant person. She was undeniably hot, yes (even Kurt could see that), but _never_pleasant. ****

**"**He's never performed before." Rachel stamped her foot to emphasize her point. She did that way too much, in Kurt's estimation. She would be far more effective as a leader, or even a public speaker if she used a bit more grace and tact. ****

**"**He performed that half-time number, and sang with the guys when they did that cover of "She's not there There". Doesn't that count as performing?" Santana smirked, obviously sensing victory. "And, if I remember right, he even suggested to Finn that they do that Zombies cover to begin with, isn't that right Finn?"****

**"**Well.. uh.. he suggested that we do something to get used to singing and dancing and stuff so that we didn't suck. But. .um.. I think Mr. Schue picked the song." Kurt sighed in disappointment at his brother. Really, if the guy insisted on saying he was co-captain of the glee club, why did he refuse to take any sort of leadership position at all? For that matter, why did everyone else let him be co-captain to begin with?****

**"**Ya, but it's still a tradition to audition." Artie nodded along with Tina as the Asian girl stated her case. And threw daggers at Karofsky with her eyes. She was kind of scary when she wanted to be. ****

**"**What tradition? We've only been around for two years." Santana laughed and rolled her eyes, hands firmly placed on hips. "We let Zizes in without auditioning." Zizes started awake at the sound of her name. "Why shouldn't my boyfriend get the same? Or, is it only people that Puck wants to fuck that get to break 'tradition'?" ****

**"**Those were special circumstances, you know that." Rachel shot a fierce look at Dave, who seemed to be doing his best to hide in the corner and go unnoticed. No one noticed the look of abject misery that crossed his face. Maybe they did, but they just assumed that it was about being in the club. ****

**"**Anyways, playing a sport with a team in a bunch of uniforms and helmets and stuff is a totally different experience." As always, Quinn remained poised and calm in her seat. Hands clasped on her lap, legs crossed demurely at the ankle and bent slightly beside her chair. The perfect image of decorum and prudence. Completely unlike Lauren who Puck had to keep firmly placed in her seat after that last remark from Santana. "He might forget his lines or the steps, or do something stupid like trip or something, thus costing us our shot at the national trophy." Ah, there's the angle. And, dagger well stabbed, indeed, Quinn. Well stabbed, indeed. ****

**"**Oh please. I'm not some under-sexed hormonal hobbit, I'm not going to have a freakishly inappropriate make-out session with my boyfriend on stage in front of thousands of people." Santana pointedly looked away from Rachel. She couldn't have been more obvious. Kurt had to hand it to Quinn's skill with manipulation; Santana might be a Latina Eve Harrington, but she had nothing on Quinn. Two attacks in a row on Rachel, and Santana carried all the blame. "I can control my emotions, and so can Dave, unlike some people." She favored Dave with a brilliant smile. ****

**"**He doesn't have the best track record with other people." Finn glared daggers at the hockey player. "Can we really be sure he won't try to hurt Kurt again?" ****

**"**We're on the Bully Whips, Finn; he's stopped picking on people; and he even asked to join our club. He's changed. He's not perfect, obviously, but he is trying." Miss Pilsbury nodded silently from her position near the wall, a few of the others nodded as well. ****

Unfortunately, Finn, Puck and Mercedes weren't buying it. They started speaking at once, all yelling over Miss Pilsbury's calls for quiet: "Hell no! He hurt Kurt! We have to protect Kurt! We need to make sure Kurt's safe! What if he tries something?" ****

After three minutes of constant arguing, Kurt had had enough, and he shattered the argument with a perfectly pitched high F. "Look, guys. Thanks, but if you're going to worry about Kurt, shouldn't you ask _Kurt_what his opinion is?" He smirked as his three friends looked a bit bashful at that. "First off, Karofsky apologized and I've accepted that apology. He's been walking me around school since I came back, and he hasn't laid a finger on me. I've come to know him a bit, and I understand, a bit, of _why _he treated me the way he did. I think he understands me a bit better, now, as well. But, if you are going to hold his bullying against him, then we should throw out all of the jocks." Finn made to protest, but Kurt ran right over him. "Puck and Finn, you guys threw me in the dumpster every day. Puck, you slusheed all of us, at least once a week." They at least had the decency to look ashamed over their past actions. "No one did anything to stop it. The Cheerios were cruel to Rachel every time she uploaded a video to Myspace. Although, really, Rachel, what you were doing with an active Myspace page nowadays is beyond me, it's _so_2005. And, of course, there are the pee balloons." He regarded them all with cold, hard eyes. "Ya, Karofsky said he would kill me. _You, _my friends, made me wish I was dead at some point in the past. You made _all_of us wish it."  
><strong><br>****"**We... uh.. we apologized and..."

"Yes, Finn, you did. You apologized, and you haven't done anything this year, which is great. And, we're all friends, now. Shouldn't we give Karofsky that same chance?" He tried to give Dave a reassuring smile. ****

**"**I'll do it." Silence. Everyone stared at Dave like he'd grown a second head. "You guys are a team. A weird, freaky, singing and dancing team that's all about stupid shi-stuff-like rainbows and unicorns and whatever, but you're still a team. And, being a team means you gotta be able to rely on each other and know that everyone's gonna do their part. Even when the football team sucked, Tanaka still made people try out. It's not just so you can pick the best guys, but it's so you can figure out what they're good at, or not good at, or.. y'know if they suck or whatever. So, sure, I'll do it." Kurt couldn't believe his ears. That was..._deep_. Now, he wanted to unravel the mystery that was Dave's brain even more. Karofsky sighed and slumped in a stool. "Just, don't expect anything, y'know, good. I only sing in church, so I really don't know how I sound. And, I'm not dancing or anything, g-lame-, like that. Don't know how anyways." ****

Dave adjusted himself a bit and took a few steadying breaths. What was he doing? He didn't prep the band or Brian or anyone about his music choice. He was just going off the cuff like this? He really didn't know anything about showmanship or show choir. Dave cleared his throat a few times and then leaned forward with his eyes fixed to the floor. Which was unfortunate, because that posture doomed his voice to ruin, a sentiment that proved true when the jock opened his mouth. His voice was a croak, barely a whisper, mangling Radiohead's _Creep_into a tortuous experience for all. Kurt almost begged him to stop to save his ears. Growling and snarling all the time had to be murder on the voice. The words barely ripped themselves from his lips, as if they were coming from someplace deep and dark and tortured. Then, Karofsky seemed to gain confidence, or his throat loosened up. Either way, the notes fell into place and the words became stronger. His voice was a deep baritone, almost a bass. It had a rich, unrefined undertone that made the ear want to pay attention, like it was something special because of its rarity and lack of polish. This song was the perfect selection for his voice, although Kurt doubted that Karofsky had thought of it that way. ****

It was a simple song, really, from a simple person. This was _not_the song he would have expected the Neanderthal to sing. Something country, definitely. Something filled with machismo and testosterone-fueled rage and red-neck blue-collar pride, definitely. But not something so... open. As the Neanderthal sang, an image began to form in Kurt's mind, an image of some brilliant model or diva walking through hallways or sitting in classrooms, completely oblivious to the misshapen oaf looking around corners or peeking behind locker doors straining to catch a glimpse of that perfect beauty and relishing every stolen glance. That image should have terrified him, but, instead, all he felt was pity. ****

The song spoke of longing that bordered on obsession and a desperation so intense it held an undercurrent of something Kurt couldn't quite place. Suicide maybe? Certainly self-loathing. There was something profoundly personal being revealed as Dave moved into the refrain, like Karofsky was speaking to someone else about something the Glee kids really had no right to be a part of. The band started playing as the jock questioned his place in the world, only to fall silent on the last lines of the chorus as he concluded with cruel finality that he did not belong, turning an already painful song into something more tragic. Karofsky's voice, plain and unaccompanied, gave an undercurrent to the song that seemed all the more stronger when the guitar and drum chimed in for that declaration of solitude only to grow silent once more as the subtlety of Karofsky's words floated in the room. ****

Kurt felt profoundly dirty for bearing witness to this song. He was robbing Karofsky of something precious and secret as surely as Karofsky had stolen from him in the locker room so many months ago. No one was meant to see this side of Karofsky. He saw a man, desperate, pleading for change, for growth, for release, a perfect soul. A man begging for someone to notice him. ****

It seemed ironic, to Kurt, that the star right guard of the football team and starting forward and captain of the hockey team should so pointedly embody isolation and self-loathing. It was ironic that such sentiments would come from a bully. ****

His voice had grown softer, and the whole club hung on his every note. Kurt felt himself gasp as the refrain picked up again, with an even stronger beat from the guitar and drummer. Karofsky had looked up and was staring at him, into his eyes, piercing him to the spot, baring himself for a moment, so that Kurt could see the wounds beneath the armor. Then, his eyes turned harsh, and something dark flashed beneath them, something born of pain and abject misery. Anguish. ****

In Kurt's mind, the oaf, desperate for affection, lashed out at his idol, chasing, snarling, barking, slamming... kissing... The words turned desperate, pleading. Karofsky's voice twisted as the oaf Kurt imagined begged his idol to run someplace safe even as he begged the idol to stay. He begged the idol to keep him from hurting, even as he pleaded to continue the pain that he had always known because he was too terrified of the uncertainty its absence would leave behind. Karofsky's voice was the sound of anguish. Kurt doubted anyone had ever heard the like, or would again. He doubted he could express such raw opened pain. Dave's voice was an open wound. The lyrics were burning nerves. The silence was salt rubbing into both.****

The jock slumped in his chair, dejected and defeated, and Kurt heard a sniffle, Rachel, probably, from behind him as Karofsky, again, declared how special his idol was and how he was a creep and unworthy of the idol's attentions, the music from the instruments rose to a jarring crescendo until: Silence. ****

The final words of the song, spoken, not sung, for the final time and without accompaniment, were barely a whisper, barely a croak. They were a statement of hatred as much as fact. He was a creep. And, he did not belong.****

Everyone stared at the hulking Neanderthal sitting morosely beside Miss Pilsbury unwilling to break the silence. His pain still hanging in the air between them, filling the void. "Wow." Kurt could hear the sneer in Puck's voice. He didn't turn around to check, though. He didn't want to forget this moment when he got to see inside his former tormentor's soul. "Damn, that was fucked up. You can sing any song in the world, and you pick _that_one?" ****

**"**I thought it was... pretty." Even Brittany seemed to gather that something dark was shared. Santana patted her on the shoulder and then rushed forward to clutch Karofsky in a tender embrace. Maybe there was something more than simple manipulation? Her tears couldn't _all _be an act. ****

Karofsky sneered, shaking off the stunned expression on his face. "Whatever, it was the last song on my play list. Don't make such a big deal out of it." He wrapped his arms protectively around Santana and his hands rubbed small comforting circles in her back. "So, am I in? Is that good enough to build sets, or whatever?" ****

Rachel nodded from her spot in Finn's arms. She fiercely wiped at her eyes with her boyfriend's sleeve. "Yes, I think you're in." ****

**"**Talk about blow your brains out music." Puck chuckled and leaned into Lauren's quick embrace. Kurt stared in shock as Karofsky quietly dried his eyes with no one the wiser. ****

Blow your brains out music, indeed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Dave wanted to blow his brains out. His life was spinning out of control even as his life had become a hyper-scheduled and micro-managed nightmare.

Coach Beiste was riding him hard, harder than he had pushed himself ever before. Harder than anyone had ever pushed him. She had said she was going to go _soft_ on him the first few days until he built up his endurance, then she'd increase the intensity until he was doing more college and pro-level stuff. He would work in thirty-minute shifts, alternate muscle groups and machines. After one set with one group, he instantly went to another, and then another after that, until he'd worked all muscle groups and had come back to the original machine to repeat the process. After five cycles of that, he had a five minute water and rest and then did calisthenics for the next quarter hour before returning back to the weights. By the end of that first hour, he would be exhausted. But, Beiste was merciless and would drive him on. By the time she told him to quit and stretch out, Dave could barely move and she had to guide him into the positions. Even then, she had been pitiless, and pushed and bent and stretched him further than he otherwise would have gone.

After a week, Beiste must have decided that his endurance was 'built up enough' because she suddenly upped his reps and weights. At the end of each workout, he would practically drag himself into the showers only to wake up on the floor nearly half an hour later, shivering in the spray from the showerhead. He would always clamber up off the floor, stumbling towards the benches to find a pile of energy bars and a giant bottle of Gatorade sitting beside a dry towel fresh from the dryer waiting for him beside his backpack. He didn't understand why Beiste put those out for him. If she felt bad about how hard she was pushing him, she could always let up. Of course, he didn't understand why she'd agreed to keep training him after the season let up. He was such a waste of space. A weak, gay, crying waste of space. Queers didn't belong in football or hockey. Christ! If they started letting fags in on the hockey team, they'd have to dump like half their traditions! You couldn't do naked skate night and haze the newbs if you had to worry about some guy checking out your junk. But, Beiste didn't seem to know he was gay. True to her word, Miss Pilsbury hadn't told anyone about that. She was kind of cool like that.

In fact, Miss Pilsbury was pretty cool all-around. Well, as cool as a teacher could get. Since his breakdown in her room, she hadn't pushed for him to open up more or talk, or do anything. She hadn't even had a pamphlet for him to read. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Those things were lame as hell, but they helped, somehow. It gave him something to focus on instead of his own self-destructive hate. He was self-aware enough to realize that that was what was really going on in his head. But for the last week, every session with her had been the same: he'd walk in and she would be smiling her usual calm almost-smile; he'd sit in his usual chair and pick up the stack of work that was sitting on her desk; and they'd go to work. The back-work was almost gone, now. They had done math, first, since that was his strongest subject. He still wanted to laugh when thought of the expression on her face as he whizzed through calc problems. It didn't annoy him that she thought he was stupid, like it did with most people. He knew she didn't think that. Miss Pilsbury was probably the one person in the world who didn't think a bad thing about anybody. She had to be like some kind of a saint or something. She had to be to want to help him. But, Miss Pilsbury had just looked so shocked when she was helping him work on math. She had that weird blank look like Rick had after he had let Conner Mortiz slap a puck into his head on a dare. She even pretended to to not know how to help him when they were working on limits. Chemistry had been a bit more of a challenge, but just as easily done. Even his history had been tackled. Although that was like pulling teeth half the time. History was too difficult to explain sometimes. There were just too many things to consider talking about the causes for World War II. But, he'd pulled through, and he'd pulled his grade up to a B. All that was left was English.

English was a nightmare all its own. Who the fuck cared about things like metaphors and similes? Science and math made sense. They had facts and theories and equations and patterns. They could be tested and proven. Relied on. English, though, was all about the subtext and the meaning of stuff. The author's message or whatever, and words behind the words. Who the hell cared why the fucking whale was white? It's a whale. It's white. The dickless sailor was batshit crazy and wanted to kill the fucking whale. End. Of. Story. The last thing he wanted to do was write five hundred words about how fucking white the whale was and why it mattered. Still, he was getting results. Slowly. His essays were becoming more developed, and his arguments seemed more clear. It had been all thanks to Miss Pilsbury, of course. He couldn't have done any of it without her.

So, at the end of the week, after he had dressed and downed his energy bars and gatorade, he was only a little worried when Coach Beiste had called him into her office. He sat in a chair opposite the solid woman and calmly looked around her office. Trophies and medals filled shelves, most of them were from other schools, but a championship trophy stood in highest prominence amongst all the other awards. She had the traditional team photos for the hockey and football teams on the walls as well. But, his eyes kept pulling to a picture of everyone in their costumes right after the halftime show in the championship game. It was in a simple frame on her desk, like a family picture.

"You remember that day?" Beiste looked at the picture with an unreadable expression in her eyes as Dave nodded dumbly. There wasn't anything much to say about that picture. There was too much to say. That day had been perfect. A championship game against their rival school, making it _two_ championship titles under his belt that year, and a half time show that was actually... kinda fun. Not that he wanted to go all show-choir and gleek out. He wasn't a fag. Well, he was, but he wasn't _that_ kind of gay. He stifled the grimace at that thought. What the Hell was wrong with him? He was gay, and that was OK. There wasn't anything wrong with being gay. He knew that! But, still, he didn't know it. He had to remind himself every time he talked that being gay wasn't bad. He had to force himself to not freak out when Kurt brought it up when they were safely alone. Even now, he didn't trust himself to talk. Dave wasn't sure what he'd say. Would he say what he wanted, or would he say the sick stuff he still thought? Instead, he gave a shrug. Beiste must have liked it though since she just grunted and kept talking. "Yeah, it was amazing. I never thought I'd be so proud. You guys winning that championship, coming together as a real team, and calling a truce with the Glee kids..." Was she _crying_? No. No fucking way! Beiste didn't cry! She was Beast! "_You_ made me proud." Wait, what? Shit! Did he say that out loud? "You did. I know it's hard, being..."

Fuck, he was in for it. She was going to say he was gay and that'd be it! He'd be off the team. Miss Pilsbury must have told. That was the only way Beiste could know. He knew he shouldn't have trusted her! Never trust anyone, that was how he stayed on top. You trust people, and let them in and all they did was make fun of you can call you Pube Boy. He didn't want to believe that Miss Pilsbury had lied to him, maybe she hadn't meant it. Teachers were weird like that. Stuff you wanted to keep secret, they blabbed to everyone they found. Stuff you wanted out? _That _they clammed up on. Every teacher must have the part of their brain that remembered high school surgically removed when they got hired.

"uh.. that is." She paused and looked around, like the row of playbooks on her shelves had the answer. "You're not like everyone else." Dave closed his eyes, waiting for judgement to fall. He was dead. So, so dead. "And, I don't know what's going through your head sometimes. You're smart. Scary smart. You're acing honors math and science. You get As and Bs in everything else. You're a leader on the ice, and, except for that weirdness before you started dating Santana, you were a leader on the football field, too. You give encouragement. You show the rookies how to play. And, you take the hardest hits on the field and go that extra mile. You.. you're a good guy. I know the guys gotta ride you for your grades. Jocks aren't supposed to be smart. I get it." Wow. She thought all that? About _him_? Wow. Karofsky barely recognized the dude she was describing. He sounded pretty cool. No one like him, though. She wouldn't think he was anything like that if she knew the truth. "So, I don't know what went down between you and Kurt, or why you rode him so hard. Or anyone, for that matter. This whole idea about the jocks needing to keep order and put the nerds in their place... it's sick. It's not what I want to teach you guys, and it's not how high school should be."

"I.. uh.. I don't get it, Coach. Am, am I in trouble? 'Cause I haven't done anything to Hummel. I've.. um.. just been taking him to his classes." And, he had, too. It'd been mind-numbing torture, but he'd done it. Ya, Hummel had a hot ass, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. But, Hummel also insisted on talking about 'gay culture' and 'how great it was to be gay' and 'wouldn't life be so _fucking_ great if he just came out and showed everyone how _extra_-special oh-so-awesome he is!' Sometimes, it was all Karfosky could do to keep from bodychecking the kid into a locker just to shut him up. Other times, it was all he could do to not try and kiss him again. And, didn't that just annoy and confuse the fuck out of him? Of course the conflict and barely-contained frustration were perfect to channel into his signature "Fury Face". He had to give himself a mental high-five for being able to intimidate the entire hockey team away from Hummel with a glare. That was pretty cool.

"Actually, I was gonna congratulate you. Miss Pilsbury says you've made some great progress. Whatever that means. I think she called it a breakthrough. Or a breakout. Break on? Whatever. Anyways, she says you're as good as a frog in a henhouse with a sack full of corn and a cow to milk."

Dave just shrugged and grinned. It was best to nod and not say anything when Coach said something that didn't make sense. She wasn't yelling, that's what mattered. Yelling meant you fucked up. Not yelling meant you didn't fuck up.

"I coach pee-wee hockey and football over the summer before training camp starts up for the high school teams. I'm going to need an assistant to help me so I can focus on our games for next year. We moved up a division because of that championship, and I have to scope out the competition."

"Are you offering me a job, Coach?" It sounded like she was. Was she? No. No fucking way. Good things did not happen to Dave Karofsky. Not any more. He didn't deserve them. He was diseased. You don't reward diseases. You cut them out. And, with kids! He couldn't be near them! He might spread the gay to them!

"It's not much. We're a public school, after all, and Figgins... Never mind, you don't need to hear about that stuff. But, there's room in the athletic budget for an assistant coach this summer, and Assistant Coach Weelan's on his honeymoon with Nurse Nan, so he won't be pitching in. I talked it over with him, and he agrees this is a perfect chance for you. The scouts eat this shit up, too."

"Scouts?" What the hell was she talking about ?

Beiste grinned. "Scouts."

"Dude! Awesome!"

"Ya, well, they won't come until next year, but a few are already sniffing after you." She coughed and looked at the planner on her desk. "That um.. stuff that went down before winter break..."

Right. That stuff, like being expelled because he threatened to kill a kid. And, it had all been for nothing. Kurt didn't tell anyone, would never tell anyone, even to save his own life. Except for that Bland kid. Not that Dave could fault him for that. "Ya.. um.. I've been trying hard..."

"I know, and it shows. But, expulsions are a big deal, even if they are overturned. You gotta show you got something real special to catch their eye again. And, I gotta be honest. You have potential, but that expulsion's gonna hurt you. You need to go that extra mile. This job'll do wonders for your rep with them." Coach Beiste grinned and slapped David on the shoulder. "But, it's gonna be hard work. I'm gonna work you just as hard in summer as I am now, and I'm going to expect a full six hours of coaching from you, every day. This weekend we're going to do some prep work for the kids before your exercise, got it?"

Dave grinned and slipped his bag on his shoulder as he left the lockers. This was going to rock!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

******"**This is so going to rock!" Finn pumped his fist in the air. What was it with jocks and fist-pumping? If they weren't flexing their arms, or pounding on their chests, they were waving their fists around. Kurt sighed and ruefully shook his head. He would never understand jocks. Sure, on a purely academic level, he could understand something of the jock bromance culture. And, he certainly understood the visual appeal-albeit not in the same way. But what was it about being a straight male that made it OK to act like a gorilla or some sort of caveman? He knew from experience that they didn't like the comparison. But, nevertheless, it was an accurate assessment of their behavior. Kurt sighed again as Sam and Puck joined the testosterone-fueled pestering. Even Artie and Mike got into the act, although Mike seemed more like he was just goofing around and Artie appeared to be doing it ironically. It was always hard to tell with Artie when he was seriously trying to act like a regular guy and when he was just trying to fit in. Maybe this time it was a bit of both.****

Still, Kurt couldn't help but wonder what it was about him that made it so difficult to understand jock culture. He was a boy. He had boy parts. He liked boy things like cars, and KISS and Nirvana, and, after his brief stint on the football team and an open copy of Sports Illustrated that Finn left laying around the house a few months ago, he even liked sports. He didn't necessarily understand why people wanted to _play_football or hockey. But, he could definitely appreciate the sport and the athletes. Despite all that, though, he didn't understand why farting was hilarious, or a grunt could be considered actual communication, or why smelling bad was good. And, he didn't understand why violence was acceptable. Finn tried to explain it once, but there was only so many different ways you can hear "it's just what guys do" before you have to stand up and scream "I'm a guy, too, dumbass!" and run to your room to have a good cry with Miss Barbara Streisand. There might be a clue in there somewhere. It wasn't like a gay/straight thing. Blaine seemed to speak Jock easily. And Karofsky was fluent in it. Granted, the closeted teen was, well, closeted, so that had to impart some innate fluency on its own. Still, that shouldn't mean that Kurt was completely ignorant of it. There had to be some primal 'guy' code that overran his 'gayness.' Right? Maybe he could try to act a bit more like a regular guy? ****

**"**Yeah! This is so going to rock!" He threw his fist in the air and really owned the phrase, hamming it like Finn and Puck seemed to do every time. ****

Eight pairs of eyes stared back at him. "What? Do I have something on my face?" OK, so maybe fist-pumping wasn't for him. ****

**"**Glad you're so excited about NASCAR, Kurt." Puck snorted and took another swig from his bottle of 'Coke'. Although, from the glassy appearance of his eyes, Kurt guessed there was a bit more than just Coke in Puck's bottle. ****

**"**Oh is that what you were talking about?" Kurt was not blushing! He.. was just a bit warm! It was May, after all, and they were sitting at the tables in the quad. "I thought you were you talking about the summer musical."****

**"**Ya,'cause Phantom of the Opera, rocks _so_hard." Puck snorted and took a sip from his bottle.****

**"**What? It's classic!" Kurt huffed as Rachel enthusiastically chimed in over his reply. "Alfred Lloyd Webber himself said he wished for it to have a more rock'n'roll feel. So, you see it does rock!"****

**"**Tights, masks, ballet.. Ya, that totally rocks." Puck rolled his eyes and went back to his food. ****

**"**Murder, revenge, obsession, bla..." Kurt was cut off as he saw Dave Karofsky round a corner and descend the steps of the quad with his jacket slung over his shoulder. There was something practiced about how he was walking, staged, almost. Almost as if on cue, when his foot hit the third step, Santana stepped out on the top of the stairs.****

**"**_If I should stay/_**  
><strong>_I would only be in your way._**" ******

Dave stopped and stood in place, his back turned to Santana as she poured her heart out like Whitney of old. Was she.. was she crying? Kurt couldn't believe his eyes! Santana was actually crying! She couldn't be _that_good of an actor, right? There's no way she could put such real and raw emotion into a song dedicated to breaking up with her _fake_boyfriend. ****

**"**_Bittersweet memories/_**  
><strong>_That is all I'm taking with me/_**  
><strong>_So goodbye/_**  
><strong>_Please, don't cry/_**  
><strong>_We both know, I'm not what you, you need/"_****

Kurt was convinced. He looked at the shock and the heartache etched on the jock's face, mirrored so perfectly in Santana's eyes, to know that, at least, some part of the emotion wasn't faked. There was something unspoken and tragic in the way Karofsky didn't move from that step. His feet, planted as they were to the stones, shuffled as he tightened his grip on his Letterman jacket and flinched when Santana proclaimed that she was not what Dave needed. Fake relationship or not, this was a very real breakup. Kurt had no doubt that Santana would always love Dave, just as the refrain affirmed. Any doubts he may have had were erased as he looked in her eye as she wished him kindness, his dreams, and happiness. Above all, she really did love Karofsky. Their relationship was a sham, she had blackmailed the jock and manipulated an entire school into voting the closeted jock as Prom King, and Gaga knew what other Eve Harrington-esque plots she had hatched, but Kurt's heart went out to the two teens all the same.****

He half expected Dave to turn around and wrap her in his arms as she belted out the refrain one final time in a run that rivaled anything Mercedes had ever given on stage. Everything seemed perfectly scripted, like it had been lifted direct from the pages of the_Bodyguard. _Which, he supposed it had. But, he didn't. Instead, Karofsky hunched his shoulders and took a steadying breath, every inch the picture of manly resolve. The jock shook his head, squared his shoulders, and threw his Letterman jacket back on. He walked away around the corners to Santana's final last words. A tearful and lonely proclamation of eternal love and gratitude. ****

Santana ran into the girl's bathroom.****

"Wow. Who'd have thought Karofsky was such a badass?" Puck actually sounded impressed.****

**"**Badass? What do you mean?" Mike wrapped an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. Tina, for her part, was sniffling quietly into his jacket. She was always very sensitive about romance. "Didn't they just break up?" ****

**"**It was like in the _Bodyguard_." Tina's voice was soft and quiet. "She told him she's no good for him, and..." The rest of what she was going to say was lost in body-wracking sobs. Mike wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to his side. ****

**"**That's what I mean! _No one_, and, I mean _no one, _has ever cracked Santana." Puck grinned. "She uses guys like most chicks use Kleenex. She's a ma neater." ****

**"**You mean she used _you_." Quinn rolled her eyes and took a sip from her Coke. ****

Kurt lost Puck's reply and all interest in the conversation as he looked back to the spot where the jock had once stood. Karofsky would not be taking this breakup well, especially not one so public. Casually, Kurt left the group. He wasn't do anything odd or dangerous, nope. He most certainly wasn't going to go and find his former bully to see how he was dealing with a very public, and to Karofsky, humiliating breakup with his fake girlfriend. Well, he was. But his friends didn't need to know that. They still insisted that someone needed to be with Kurt at all times when Karofsky was in the room, like the jock would attack him the first chance he got. That was simply preposterous. Dave had grown so much in the past few month, that he was almost completely unrecognizable to Kurt. Sure, there were a few times when he saw the old Karofsky. Like, when they would walk down the halls and the jock would glare at any of the known bullies at campus. Or, the not so rare times when Kurt would say something and Dave would visibly keep his temper in check. Or, when Kurt walked in on him in the locker room, and found Dave slamming his fists into a punching bag with disturbing speed and accuracy. OK, so maybe he hadn't changed that much. But, he wasn't bullying anyone anymore. He didn't even tease anyone in Glee Club. Granted, that's because he only talked to Mr Schue, Miss Pilsbury, or Santana. But, opportunities were there, and he pretty much ignored them all. That had to count for something, right? ****

He caught sight of Karofsky's retreating form walking around the corner towards the cafeteria. Great, he'd never get him alone there. Kurt would just have to wait until Dave picked him up for his next class. They would have plenty of privacy then. For some reason, no one really wanted to listen in on their conversations as they walked through the halls. Kurt nodded to himself and clutched his books tighter to his chest. That would have to do. ****

He turned to head towards the choir room and felt a feminine hand dig very sharp nails into his arm only moments before he was whipped into an empty English room and slammed against a wall. ****

**"**Leave him alone, Lady Lips." ****

**"**Santana, I'm surprised you cared, especially after that display you put on just now." Kurt shifted into bitch mode in high gear. He barely tolerated Santana's machinations on his best days-and there were a lot of them, from breaking up Sam and Quinn, to toying with Finn and Rachel, to blackmailing Dave. He was not about to put up with her games, now. "Brava, by the way, for acting the part of the lovesick girlfriend"****

Santana rolled her eyes and sat on a desk, feet propped on a desk and her hands clasped over her knees. "I gave him exactly what he needed." ****

**"**You used him!" ****

**"**I don't know what you're talking about, Kurt." Her eyes flashed dangerously. And, Kurt was reminded of the girl who threatened the worst bully in school that she had razorblades in her hair. He was pretty sure she was lying about that, but Kurt inched his way towards the door just to be safe. "Dave and I had something special. Something real. Something you will _never_understand."****

Well, that was true enough. Kurt didn't understand why Dave would have wanted to hide like that. Ya, being bullied sucked. But, not being true to yourself sucked so much more. "Your relationship wasn't real. It was just a scheme to win prom. He told me everything."****

**"**Everything?" For once, Santana looked concerned. Frightened, even. Which, was weird because _nothing_scared Santana. Not even Coach Sylvester could put a dent in the Latina's cool veneer.****

**"**He told me that you hatched this crazy scheme to get me back here so you could win prom and nationals and rule the school." Did she just breath a sigh of relief? Impossible. He knew what he knew! "So, what you just thought that now that school was over and you didn't get what you wanted that that was it, you were done with him? You can't be that cold-hearted! You have..."****

**"**You care about him." ****

Whoa. Wait. What? No.. No he didn't. "I'm concerned for him. He's come a long way, and..."****

**"**Yeah, and that's any less creepy. God, you're like a battered housewife. What, you think that just because he's stopped slamming people into lockers or threatening to kill them that he's changed? That he's any different at all? Please." Santana's sneer slid off her face even as it started to form. "You do, don't you?"****

**"**I've seen it when we walk in the halls. He doesn't... he's not making homophobic comments. I don't know what it is, but he's different. And, it's a good different. He's kind of an OK guy when he forgets to be a total ass to people. And, I don't want him to lose that. I'm worried that..." ****

**"**What? What are you worried about?"****

**"**N-nothing, just that he'll go back to being a bully." ****

**"**Bull. Spill." Kurt shook his head and clamped his mouth tight. He'd almost told her! He'd almost broken his number one rule. _The_number one rule of being gay. You _never_out someone. Ever. Coming out was sacred and special. It was one of the most private things you could ever tell anyone, and you tell it to the whole world. It's not something that's meant for other people to share or talk about. And, he'd almost done that very thing! He would never tell. "You know."****

**"**What? Know what?"****

Santana hooked her finger in beckoning gesture and walked towards the farthest corner from the door. She sat in a chair wedged up next to an old storage closet in the room, in a small alcove made to be a lending library for students in Miss Sanders' Freshman English class. Kurt would have bolted from the room right then, but the plaintive and pained look in Santana's eyes made him pause. What was going on? He took a seat in the chair opposite of her, and instinctively clasped her hands. "You know he's gay." A flash of annoyance crossed her eyes. "Don't look at me like that, it's not outing if the other person knows, too. You're a shitty liar." ****

**"**I know. Don't ask me how, It's not my place to tell. But, I know." Santana nodded as though he'd confirmed something for her. "How do you know?"****

**"**He's not that great of a liar, either." He mustn't have given her the response she wanted because she huffed and through back her hair. "I caught him checking out Sam's ass in the hall." ****

Karofsky did have taste, Kurt had to give him that. Inappropriate hate-kissing aside, Karofsky knew hot when he saw it. Still, Kurt needed to defend the jock. Gays had to stick together. Even if one of them was a very reluctant gay. "He could have just been checking out Sam's jeans."****

**"**That was the same excuse he gave me when I confronted him about it. And, lemme just say, it's still not any less gay." ****

**"**You confronted him? Did you _blackmail_him into dating you?" Santana coldly stared back at him. Oh, she was good. So, so very good. Nothing got through her armor. Nothing. "You did! You blackmailed him! Do you have any idea of the damage you could have done! No. Of course not!" Kurt whipped his hands away and stood up, grabbing the chair for support . "You monster! You're no better than he was! He's terrified! I don't know why, or of whom. But, he's _terrified _of being gay, and being found out. Everything he did to me, to everyone, was so no one would find out. And there you go and make his fears come true. All so you can win some bullshit trophy and a stupid crown? he could have gotten worse, Santana, did you ever think of that? What the fuck, Santana? What were you thinking?"****

**"**It's not blackmail if you give them something in return." Kurt stopped in mid-rant. His hand raised in an imperious gesture. What the Hell was she talking about? "It's mutually assured destruction. Yes, I told him that I knew about him. And, I said I would tell the school if he didn't go along with my plan. I'm not proud of it, but whatever, it is what it is. But, I told him about me, too. That way, if either of us broke the deal, the other goes down, too. It's why Russia and the US didn't kill each other in the 60s or whatever." She crossed her arms and huffed again. ****

**OK**, now Kurt was _really _confused. "What?" ****

**"**I'm lesbian. Big surprise, I know, but there it is. I'm a big flaming dyke." ****

He sat back down on the chair with an undignified plop and stared hard into Santana's eyes. "I really don't like that word."****

**"**Ya, well, I'm not talking about you, so I'll use whatever word I want." She leaned back in her chair and huffed again. "Fine, whatever. I'm lesbian. He's gay. You're gay. We're all one great big happy gay club of gays." ****

**"**You're gay?" She nodded. "But.. wait, what? How.. Karofsky? You... Prom?"****

**"**God, you're thick. I staged the whole thing with Dave to keep people from sniffing me out. I wanted to win Prom Queen so I could convince Brittany to date me. And, I wanted to get you back on the team so we could win Nationals." She smirked. "It was win-win."

"For you, maybe." ****

**"**Well, ya, that's all that matters." Santana sighed. "Look, for what it's worth, I felt bad about what I did to Dave. He didn't deserve that, and it was a low blow, even for me. But, we needed each other. He... he's kind of a mess, in case you haven't noticed." ****

Kurt had never wanted to hurt someone in his life until this moment with Santana. The girl was pure evil! She was the most reprehensible being on the planet! She broke the one central and inviolate rule of the gay community: don't out someone. It was more broadly written as "do no harm to each other". But, basically, that was it in a nutshell. Don't hurt or out anyone. Coming out of the closet was a profoundly revealing and terrifying prospect. It was exposing yourself to scrutiny, ridicule, shame, and isolation. You could never know, truly, how people would react to the news. And, Santana had selfishly thrust Dave into that spotlight. She...****

**"**Oh sure, he acts all cool and collected. And, I won't lie, I didn't start off the arrangement to help him. But..." Her eyes drew watery for a moment, and Kurt swore he saw real emotion bubbling in her chocolate eyes. "It wasn't all fake. We did watch movies, and read articles, and go to the Trevor Project. A lot of it was to convince ourselves that the lie was worth keeping up. But, after a while, once we started the Bully Whips, we read them for ourselves. He took it hard, really hard."****

**"**So, why the break-up then? He didn't decide to come out, did he?" ****

**"**Please, would I have given him that song if he had?" ****

She had a point, that song was intense. ****

**"**Santana looked down at the floor in an odd semblance of shame. "Brittany." ****

**"**What?" ****

**"**Brittany. She's free, now that's she and Artie aren't together anymore. So, she's fair game. And... she said she doesn't want to pretend like we used to, before..." She.. was Santana crying? "...before we figured out what was going on between us. So.. I just..."  
><strong><br>****"**Cut him loose after you blackmailed him?" Kurt couldn't believe his ears. He glared daggers at her from his position on the other side of the room. When had he stormed over there? He couldn't remember, but it felt good to have his back pressed to the windows. He knew he must be cutting the image of an avenging angel, and the theatrical side of his personality love the spectacle of it all.

"I set him free!" Santana was not one to be outdone, she stood up and stormed towards him. "He'll be a fucking _legend _at this school! He got the great Santana Lopez to crack and sing a sappy love song to him-in public! He'll have ruined me for every other guy! I'll say "No, I'm still not over Karofsky!" And the jocks will love him, and the sluts will swoon, and he'll be a mother fucking GOD! No one will ever think he's gay! He could stop bullying tomorrow, and be a fucking _nerd _for all of senior year, and they will _still _worship his gay ass. Because. He. Made. Me. Cry." ****

**"**And you still get to be with Brittany. Don't make this be anything but the selfish power play it's always been. You manipulative..."****

**"**For once, Kurt, this isn't just about me! He can't have a life with the way things were. He'd _never _get better. _I _would never get better. And, I'm way closer to accepting all of this than he is!" She sighed and tightened her hands around her sides. "He's too chickenshit to come out and too miserable to stay in. And, we read about things like that, Kurt. There's really one one option for those kids." ****

**"**You don't think..."****

She shook her head 'no'. "I don't know. But, I don't want him to wake up ten years from now with a battered wife, and three kids who are as homophobic as he is and realize that he never should have any of it. He's my friend, Kurt. I watch out for my friends." She stood and walked back to the door, leaving Kurt to stare dumbfounded in shock. "I set him free. Help him stay that way." ****

The door shut behind her and Kurt was alone with his thoughts. Dave Karofsky was free. What did that mean? More importantly, what did that mean to Dave?


End file.
